


La Douleur Exquise

by Mizzswan



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M, Scandal AU, but its primarily frary, frary, got a bit of monde too, hey hey another modern au, this is a little bit frola, this is loosely based on scandal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22259590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzswan/pseuds/Mizzswan
Summary: Mary is a Washington based crisis manager, she's the girl people go to when they have problems. Her and her band of particularly skilled lawyers work together to solve some of Washington's dirtiest misdeeds.But she's soon to find out, not everything can be fixed.Based loosely on the ABC show, Scandal.
Relationships: Mary Queen of Scots/Francis de Valois (Reign), Queen Catherine/King Henry II (Reign)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 45





	1. Sit Down, Mr. President

**_La Douleur Exquise_ ** _ \-  _ The heart-wrenching pain of wanting someone you cannot have.

_ “I saw you in a dream and I thought you were beautiful,  _

_ Like light falling on pines,  _

_ A warm, hazy-gold, and resurrecting kind of beautiful.” _

_ - _

Francis has this freckle on his cheek, it rests just under his eye, right on his cheekbone and she’s sure the average person wouldn't notice it. The average person wouldn't care enough to notice it, but she does. She used to brush her thumb over it, sometimes when he was asleep she’d spend a ridiculous amount of time looking at it, wondering if their kids would have one too or if it was just specific to Francis. 

She spends too long now thinking about that stupid freckle, thinking about all the small and insignificant parts of his face. The scar on his temple, the worry lines on his forehead, those adorable dimples he gets when he smiles, like  _ really  _ smiles, the kind that’s usually followed by a hearty laugh. 

She dreams about him often and about that laugh, the way he would smile as she leaned down to sweep her mouth over his and he’d push her hair back behind her ears. The morning sun would pour through the windows and she would think for a moment,  _ this is real _ like this is really _ real _ and they’re together like nothing happened. Then the dream would change and one moment she’s over him and the next, well, the next he’s gone and she’s being choked. 

The first thought she has when she opens her eyes is,  _ why does my apartment smell like wet paint?  _ The second is, _ what did the president do this time?  _ What did he do because she can hear them outside her apartment, waiting for her to emerge so she can supply them with answers, because she’s Mary Stuart and Mary Stuart fixes things, surely she would find a way to fix this, whatever this is. 

So, they have their cameras ready for when she comes out, they have their mics turned up enough to hear her, they don't care that it’s eight in the morning and she literally has no idea what’s going on. She’s on a first-name basis with the first family, surely she knows everything there is to know, surely someone called her, but no one called her.

They don't call until they’re in over their heads and they’re drowning in it. They’re not drowning yet, they’re not lost at sea yet. Mary Stuart’s rescue services have not been dispatched. 

“I don't work for the White House anymore.” She tells them as she heads out for her car, as she pushes her way through the crowd of reporters. “Vultures.” She breathes when she walks in the building, her firm. It’s an old townhouse turned law firm. It was given to her by her mom after she graduated. She thinks it was meant for her to live in, but she didn't need that. It has four bedrooms that have been turned into offices. One for Greer, one for Aylee, and one for Mary. Kenna’s office sits empty since she left. The dining room has been turned into a conference room, a wall put in place so they can close off the rest of the building. 

Greer sits with her feet up on the large table, staring at the tv as she pops another chip in her mouth. 

“Looks like Henry did it again.” She tells her and then she’s turning up the TV and all over the screen are photos of the President of the United States between the knees of a pretty, young, brunette Mary recognizes as Penelope Bennet. She was an intern, a newbie, and when Mary worked there, the girl couldn't seem to do anything right.    
Apparently, things have changed. 

“Only a matter of time before you’re called.”

“I don't work for the White House anymore.”

“I know.” Greer rolls her eyes as she spins her chair, “Doesn't mean they won't call you.”

“I don't have to take the case.” She reminds the girl, there have been only a few times she ever said no and only because she was swamped with others. She can say no, she can deny the President. 

“You just don't want to run into Francis.” She says softly and then she quickly looks away, the glare Mary hits her with is apparently too much. “Sorry.”

“I’m not worried about that.” She tells Greer after a while, besides, he isn't there. He avoids the White House at all costs. He’s in Africa and has been for the last few months. He’s putting books in children's hands, food and water in houses, he’s literally saving the world. Six months ago he was in the Middle East visiting a hospital that was packed full of the victims of a gruesome terrorist attack, he didn't go to the inaugural ball, he was too busy stitching wounds and providing medical aid to people too poor to get it. 

Which is what the media never focuses on, they don't care about the good, only the bad. They should be talking about Francis, not what his father-  _ who  _ his father just happens to be screwing. 

_ Ah, dammit. _ She’s pulling out her phone. 

“There it is,” Greer smirks.

“I don't work for the White House anymore.” She shouts as she heads for her office. 

_ -/- _

The White House began construction in 1792 and the first President to live there was President John Adams in 1800. Since then, it’s housed many men who bear the title, who reap the rewards. Some of them were good men, some of them were bad, and while Mary hates it here, she can appreciate the rich history behind it. It’s a beacon of hope and democracy. 

And Henry is bending everyone  _ but  _ his wife over all corners of it. 

The door to the Oval office opens with ease at her arrival and she’s met with a pacing First Lady and the President leaning on his desk looking like a freshly scolded child. 

“Honestly, how could you be so stupid?” Catherine is snapping, “You do know this place is crawling with cameras.” She seems angrier that he got caught than she is that he was between the legs of another woman. 

“Of course I knew.” He’s saying, “Just...didn't know they were on.” He shuffles awkwardly, looking down at the carpet. 

“Are you an  _ idiot _ !?” She whirls on him and Mary rolls her eyes because they can’t do this right now, as comical as it is to watch the most powerful man in the country being scolded like a child by his wife. She clears her throat loudly and Catherine turns to her.

“Really? Who called her?” Henry asks, as much as he loves women, he hates that one has to solve his problems and he hates that that same woman just happens to be the only reason he got elected. 

“No one.” Mary tells him, “I saw the news. I figured you’d call eventually.”

“Thank you.” Catherine says softly and then she’s approaching, “Oh, how are you?” She asks tenderly, gazing at her. It’s been a while, it has but they don't have time for this. 

“A little annoyed.” She says honestly but she feels the feeling is mutual as both women look at Henry now. “How’s that new bill coming along, sir?” She asks with fake enthusiasm. He doesn't say anything, he just scowls. She steps out of Catherine's arms, “The first year of your term and you’ve had so many issues.”

“Are you going to fix it or lecture me?”

“Both.” She says it seriously, “Now, seeing how everyone with a television or electrical device has seen the President's ass. God,  _ including me. _ ” Her nose wrinkles at that and she shakes her head, “We can't deny it.”

“Figured that.”

“You can't ignore it, either.” She tells him, “Which I know is what you planned on doing.”

“What do we need to do?” Catherine asks before Henry can cut in with some loosely veiled insult for the girl who thinks she can tell him what to do. 

“Shift the focus.” 

“To?”

“Sir, do you know where your son is right now?” She asks as Henry flops down on the white couch and kicks his feet up on the coffee table, he gives her a questioning look. “Francis.” She swallows the bitter taste his name leaves in her mouth. 

“Am I supposed to?” He asks and Catherine looks like she’s ready to strangle her husband with her bare hands. 

“Really!?”

“What?” He asks with a shrug, “He’s a grown man, why would I keep tabs on him?”

“He’s your son.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Of  _ course  _ I know where he is!” Catherine spats and then she’s pinching the bridge of her nose and walking to the window so she doesn't have to look at him. “Mary, just...get to the point.”

“People are focusing on the wrong thing.” She tells them.

“No.” Catherine says that quickly, “We are not using Francis as political cannon fodder.” She’s looking at Mary like she can't believe she’s even suggesting it. Mary knows him, she knows how serious he takes his work, and she knows how hard he tries to keep it away from his father. Yet, here Mary is, suggesting they use it as a sponge to soak up his father's many shortcomings. 

“I don't like it any more than you do, but that's where we are right now. Do you have any better ideas?” Both parents are quiet and Catherine shakes her head reluctantly as she rubs at the back of her neck and she tells her to do it on a breath, they can't meet her eyes. “Where’s your press secretary?”

_ -/- _

Stephane Narcisse is as cold as he is calculated, he doesn't wear his emotions on his face and one can never tell what he is thinking. Despite their clear dislike of each other, he agrees that diverting the media’s attention and turning the focal point from Henry to Francis, is the best way to go. So, she writes a hasty speech, she tells him to say what she wrote down, to criticize the press for choosing the wrong things to focus on when there is so much going on in the world; to apologize on behalf of the President and announced that he will be releasing a statement soon. 

“I can't believe you’re doing this.” Catherine breathes as she paces with her hands on her hips. She’s changed from the pale blue dress suit and is now wearing a simple blouse and dress pants. Mary thinks she looks younger like this, with her hair floating down around her shoulders in soft curls, Catherine doesn't wear makeup, just a light dusting of foundation and blush to hide her aging skin. 

_ She doesn't even need it. _ Mary thinks, she wonders how many babies the First Lady has sacrificed to keep that youthful glow. 

They’re in the residence wing of the White House it’s so Catherine, it would seem ridiculous to suggest she hasn't always lived here. There are pictures of her kids in every corner, in every space of the walls. Mary sighs as she leans back on the leather couch watching Catherine stand by the window, shaking her head. 

“I know you don't like it.”

“No, I hate it.” Catherine says softly, “But it needs to be done, I suppose.” She shakes her head again and runs her hands through her hair, “Did you know when you joined his campaign that he would waste his term doing stupid things like this?” Henry has always been an interesting man, but he has good ideas and he’s a good politician and she thought he would be a good president. 

“He’s still new, not used to all these changes.” She says simply, it’s been one year since he was elected, surely he’ll get his head back in the game soon. Mary is quite tired of cleaning up his messes. 

“Is that all you have to say?”

“There isn't much more I can say.” She says softly. Catherine doesn't say anything else and Mary goes back to watching the speech, to watching Narcisse throw Francis to the hungry hounds and she should feel bad. This should eat away at her skin, but it doesn't, it just feels indifferent. She feels the couch dip and then the tv is shut off.

“How are you?” Catherine asks, she’s sitting next to her now, the bitterness she was feeling a moment later is swallowed for now. 

“Fine.” She says on a hard swallow and she can tell by the blink of her eyes that she doesn't believe her but she doesn't elaborate on it. 

“You stopped coming around.”

“I stopped working here.”

“Mary.” She says her name softly, “The kids miss you.” She tells her. Margot and little Hercules, she used to see them all the time. She thinks Margot is about thirteen now. 

“How old are they now?”

“Margot will be fourteen soon and Hercules just turned seven.” She tells her with a fond smile, “Margot is adjusting to all of this pretty well, but Herc...he’s young and he’s having a hard time, it might help if you stopped by.”

“Catherine.”

“They’re not used to  _ not  _ seeing you.” She says and Mary shifts. She remembers when Herc was born, she’s been around for so long, it would be hard for them to get used to her not being here. The younger kids at least, the older ones are able to understand. If she isn't in Francis’ life anymore, why would she be in theirs? 

“I can't.” She says softly, “It was a clean break for a reason, Catherine.” She doesn't say anything, she just turns the tv back on and they catch the end of Narcisse’s speech, the announcement that Henry will be releasing a statement soon and it sends the room of reporters into a frenzy.

“There is another thing.” Mary says softly as she stands, “You and Henry will need to make a public appearance soon, within the next few days, soon. Something mundane, go out for lunch, don't warn the press. Just go and look happy.” Make the public believe that this one poor decision hasn't derailed their marriage and they still love each other and Catherine isn't the cold and closed off woman she is believed to be. That way when Henry decides to go for reelection, it will be more believable. Their smiles and small kisses won't seem like a publicity stunt, something to make their marriage more digestible to the public. 

_ -/- _

She’s on her way to her office two days later, the media has been pretty quiet about the affair, about Penelope and she thinks it's over now, that they’ll leave it alone. Francis is being talked about as reporters and journalists do more digging into his life and his work and now she does feel bad. She feels bad because he didn't want this, he doesn't want this, it's tainted the good he’s doing now and will make all future good seem like a desperate attempt to stay relevant. 

No matter, in a few days no one will be talking about it. It won't matter anymore, just like everything else. A good story is just that, a good story; until something better comes along and begs for attention. 

She sucks in a breath when Aylee bolts out in front of her.

“What are you doing?” Mary asks when she almost knocks the girl over, “Hi.”

“Have you seen the news?” She asks and something about her voice doesn't sit well with her. She shakes her head, she’s had her fill of it, she wrote a speech with Francis as the focal point; that was enough. 

“No?”

“Mary,” Aylee says and her voice is frantic and that’s when she realizes that something is wrong and that's when her feet are falling heavily on the hardwood floors as she throws open the door to the conference room. Aylee is close behind her and Greer turns to them, holding the remote to her chest. There’s fire on the screen and what looks like something that resembled a plane.

A little known fact about Francis. His father gifted him a private jet once after he graduated College. Most parents give their kids money or maybe a car if they’re lucky, but Henry. Henry had the money and he has the means, he gave Francis a whole plane. Francis hated it, so he never used it, except the one time he used to it fly victims of a devastating earthquake to the U.S. for medical care and a place to stay. Because Francis is good and kind and he’s a freaking superhero. 

Anyways, the point is, Francis always flies on a commercial airline, among other citizens, he isn't flashy.

“Turn it up,” Mary tells Greer and when she doesn't, she’s snatching the remote and doing it her damn self. “ _ Early this morning, the airline carrier Delta went down suddenly _ .” The news anchor says, a pretty blonde girl with red lips, “ _ There is no word yet on what caused the crash but rescue workers are desperately trying to get passengers off the burning aircraft. _ ” She pauses, “ _ I am receiving reports that the President's son, Francis Valois was among the passengers aboard the flight but there has been no word on his condition. This is a developing News story and we will update as soon as possible. _ ” 

“Mary.” Greer says her name softly, “He’s probably okay.” Probably, he might be alive, he might be getting people off. Probably, it's a big word, he could  _ probably  _ be okay, or he could  _ probably  _ be dead. She can't do anything about it.

All she can do is scream.

_ -/- _

They’re packed in her apartment, the tv is the only light on. Kenna is here too and she tells them there has still been no word despite the fact that the crash had happened hours ago, the death count rises steadily, she thinks it's up to two hundred now. 

“Catherine is going insane,” Kenna says softly from her place on the floor. As she should be, she imagines that she would if it had been any of her other children. Because it’s Francis, maybe it's worse. He was her first baby, her whole world, she would walk through fire for him. 

“Henry?” Mary asks softly, “Is he…”

“He’s just trying to keep busy, there isn't much anyone can do.” Kenna wraps a soothing arm around Mary’s back. She thinks that he is dead, why else would they not be reporting that he’s alive. Maybe he is dead and his body was burned beyond recognition and it’ll be weeks before he can be identified. They’d have to go through dental records because there would be nothing left and she thinks maybe he went quickly. Maybe he didn't suffer, maybe he died trying to save someone else. He’s Francis and Francis is good and he’s the type of man to die saving someone else even if doing so is  _ stupid _ . 

Hours go by and there is still no word. Lola sleeps on her couch and Aylee sleeps too, Mary had Greer and Kenna move to her bed, she won't be sleeping tonight and she watches the clock tick to midnight and then one, and then three and still nothing. 

The buzzing of her phone wakes her when she doses off and she sees now the sky has begun to pink up. 

“Yes?”

“Please hold for The First Lady.” She recognizes the girl's voice, Charlotte, a receptionist for the White House, she patches her through and she holds her breath.

“He’s alive,” Catherine says, it's the first thing she says and she sounds so tired. “He has some minor scrapes and bruises, but he’s alive.”

“Thank you.” She breathes a sigh of relief, “Oh, thank you.”

“I figured you wanted to know.” She says softly, “He’s at home. I tried to get him to stay at the hospital but he refused, he wanted to leave, he wanted to...I don't know what he wanted. At any rate, he’s okay and he’s alive and I suppose that's all that matters.”

“All those people.”

“Yes, all those people.” Catherine repeats, “You should get some sleep.”

“I want to see him.” She admits softly, “I want to see him, I have to.” She has to make sure he’s alive, that he isn't burned, that he’s okay for the most part. Catherine sighs deeply at that and she hears her shift. 

“Yes.” She says, “I can suggest that you don't.” 

“I can ignore it.”

“You can.” She clicks her tongue against her teeth. “I’m sure he’ll...he’ll be glad to see you.” She can't tell if the woman is lying or telling the truth but she can't imagine a world where Francis will want to see Mary, where he will be receptive of her visit. Because she wanted space.

She wanted space until he became indifferent to her wanting space. 

“I thought that he died today.” She croaks, “I thought that he died.” 

“Yes.”

“And now he’s okay and I wanna believe that but I have to see him.” Catherine doesn't say anything to that, she just sighs. 

“Get some rest, dear, you sound exhausted.” The line goes dead after that and Mary releases the breath she was holding. 

-/-

He has a home here in DC but he has another in Vermont. It’s big and spacious and breathtaking. He hates it. He hates it because it's full of broken promises, full of potentials that left the same time Mary did.    
Vermont is a state in the northeastern province of the United States. It’s known for its vast forest and mountain terrains, it’s great for hunting, hiking, privacy. It’s as far away from his father as the man can get so she supposes that’s enough to keep him there. 

The drive is nine hours and while she would rather take a plane, she can't fathom getting on one after what happened. How he was able to, she has no idea. 

She sets out early in the morning the next day, like four a.m. early and her driver almost chokes when she tells him where to go. He goes because he’s being paid to and she feels the knots in her stomach tighten as he drives up the long gravel path to the house. It feels so surreal being back here, it’s been so long. She remembers when he got it when it was built for the two of them because they were so sure they would spend the rest of their lives together. She remembers telling him if the bathtub wasn't deep enough to submerge her knees and her shoulders she wasn't moving in. 

The house is surrounded by green, trees, it’s the most beautiful during winter, and there’s a ledge behind the house with the most incredible view. 

“Ms. Stuart.” Leith smiles when he sees her and even does a fake little bow that has her glaring at him but she smiles anyway. He’s one of the secret service agents that has to follow Francis around like a dog, they’ve become friends over the years. 

“Mary.” She corrects him, “You’re supposed to call me Mary.”

“Ah, too informal, you’re practically royalty.”

“Leith.” She rolls her eyes, “Is he inside?” She nods her head to the house and he nods his head.

“I will tell him-”

“No.” She says quickly, “Don't...don't tell him who it is.” She looks at the ground then, hates how soft her voice sounds. 

“You got it,  _ your majesty _ .” He says dramatically, an attempt to lighten the mood and then he’s headed inside, he’s only gone for a minute, but then he’s back and stepping aside so she can walk through the door. He points down the hall and through the archway and she moves slowly, hating how loud her shoes are. 

But there he is. He doesn't look up when she walks in, he’s sat on the couch that wraps around the living room and the stone fireplace casts a warm glow over the room. His leg is crossed over the other and there’s a book between his fingers. It’s Leeza’s. She married a Spanish Prince a few years ago, went from city girl to crowned royal quite literally overnight. They hardly see her anymore but she wrote a book about it, how she met and fell in love and Mary thinks maybe  _ Lifetime  _ will make a movie about it one day. She doesn't say anything and the turning of a page sounds too loud in her already ringing ears.

“I knew it was you.” He says casually, “Come to check for a pulse?”

“I wasn't sure if you would let me in.”

“I wasn't going to.” He tells her honestly as he turns another page. “But I figured, might as well, I don't remember the last time we were in the same room.”

“I was worried.”

“Don't be.” He says and then he sighs heavily, “I got to go home. It’s a miracle, that's what they’re calling it, you know? The news. Now that it's been released that I’m fine and I’m home and all I got was a scratch and maybe a small burn. It’s a miracle.  _ Hallelujah _ , praise the Lord.” He says the last part with a roll of his blue eyes. “As though divine intervention had anything to do with it. I just happened to be at the front and not the back.”

“Are you...upset that people are happy you aren't dead?” She asks as she pulls at the end of her sleeves. 

“Three hundred and twelve.” He says that loudly. 

“Huh?”

“That's how many people died.” He tells her, “I suppose maybe you wouldn't know that because the news isn't really covering it, because Goddamnit I wasn't one of the bodies. Did you know that a lot of them were children? No. That a few of them were pregnant? Oh, what do you know? They’re not being talked about.” 

“Francis-”   
“I only know because the lovely lady who sat diagonally a few feet away from me, she was expecting triplets and she was sucked out of the plane like she was made out of tissue paper.” He shakes his head and he still hasn't looked up from his book, “Don't even know her name.”

“That’s horrible.” She says softly and she looks at the floor, her stomach feels like it’s made out of knots at this point and it twists and tightens. 

“Yes.” He says softly, “And insignificant as far as the media is concerned.” He pauses, “Speaking of.” He says suddenly, he snaps the book closed, and it hits the coffee table with a slam. “ _ You _ .” 

“Me.” She whispers that and he’s finally looking at her but she can't meet his eyes even though she longs to. 

“I know Narcisse didn't write that speech.” He says as he stands and she feels like she can't breathe, but she knew he’d be angry, she just didn't expect him to look at her like that. Look at her like she’s dirt at the bottom of his shoe. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry.” He breathes, “That fixes it.”

“I was doing my job.”

“There were a million different ways you could have done your job, Mary.” He snaps, “I can’t believe you would stoop that low.” She doesn't say anything, she just shuffles awkwardly on her feet and swallows hard. 

“I thought I made one thing clear.” He tells her, “My work, my life is off-limits to my father, to the press,” He pauses before he says it but it hits just the same, “To you.” He sighs and shakes his head again, “I don't even know why I’m saying this. It hardly matters now, the damage is done.” He’s pouring something strong in a glass and he’s so cold, she thinks it's the only thing keeping the ice in his glass frozen. He holds up a second glass but she shakes her head. She can smell it from here, it's hard liquor, copper liquid. He doesn't usually drink, she supposes this is the time to start. 

“Do…” She swallows and it's too loud in this house, “Do you hate me?” She hates the question, how small it sounds, she sounds like a child and his eyes flick over to her as he brings the glass to his lips and breathes a laugh.

“I watched hundreds of people die the other day and you’re asking if I hate you?” He asks, swallows, “I’m sorry is my mood not up to par? So sorry.”

“Francis.”

“I trust that you remember where the door is, if not, Leith will escort you.”

“I think I can find the door on my own.”

“Really? Could have fooled me, what with your inability to move towards it.”

“Okay.” She huffs, “I know you’ve had a hard few days-”

“A hard few days!?” He snaps, he looks like he’s ready to implode, but he shakes his head and swallows whatever he was going to say, “No. I’m not doing this with you.  _ Go _ .”

“I-”

“Get. Out!” The shout that leaves his mouth sounds like thunder and it tears through her eardrums, has her taking a hard step back, sucking in a hard breath, flinching. It makes him blink, makes his expression softened and his features look apologetic as he takes a step. 

“No.” She says quickly. 

“Right.” He whispers, “Right I’m not allowed to touch you.” He sighs heavily as he turns to head back to the couch, “You should go. It’s a long drive.” His voice is softer now, less cold, but it isn't exactly warm and she just stands there shaking. 

“I…” She chokes, “Can I please have a minute?” She asks on a breath and he nods, hand twitching at his side, a physical representation of his restraint. He leaves the room, he does so to give her space. To give her time to gather herself and she hates that he even has to.

_ -/- _

She’s home by three in the morning, just as the clock turns, and she doesn't bother changing, she just crawls in bed and closes her eyes. Her phone rings not even five seconds later and she groans as she rolls over, ignoring it. Her eyes pop open when it rings again and she whines softly as she pulls it off the charger and to her ear.

“What?” Is the harsh greeting, thinking it's Greer or Aylee or maybe even Kenna.

“I was rude to you.” She’s met with a voice that belongs to Francis, but it can't be Francis, because Francis doesn't call her. Ever. She sits up.

“Um…Hello?”

“I was rude to you.” He tells her again and she knows now that sober Francis wouldn't call her, drunk Francis sure as hell would. 

“Did...did you call me to remind me? Did...did you think I forgot?” She asks softly, she’s tired and she doesn't have time for this. “Francis-”

“Hm.” He hums like he’s thinking and she pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“Francis.”

“Ah, I wanted to apologize.” He says finally and she bites at her lip.

“O-okay.” She says softly, “You don't have to-”   
“I want to.”

“Alright.”

“Mary.”

“Yes, Francis?” She asks softly, swallows her sigh as she leans back against her pillows. It’s quiet though and all she hears is air moving from lungs, to throat, to phone. “Hello?”

“Hi.” She’d laugh if she wasn't actively fighting to stay awake. “I can't sleep.” 

“Understandable.” She says softly, “You endured a very tragic-”

“Not because of that.” He says quickly, “Okay, because of that but also because of you.” He says and he doesn't sound angry, he just sounds like Francis. Albeit, drunk. 

“Francis…”

“I miss you.” He tells her honestly and she swallows, “I mean I missed you before, but it was different because I hadn't...seen you in so long. Then I saw you today I just realized that I miss you.” 

“It’s late.” She doesn't mean for it to come out so soft, but it does and she blinks back the tears in her eyes because those are ridiculous. 

“So much.” He tells her, “I think I miss talking to you the most, I mean I miss the other stuff; my god do I miss the  _ other  _ stuff.” She bites her lip hard when she blushes because she knows exactly what he’s talking about, “That wasn't appropriate. I’m sorry.” 

“It's...it's okay, Francis.” She giggles and she doesn't dare say that she misses the other stuff too. 

“Okay.” He says softly and then he’s quiet again and she shakes her head when she looks at the time.

“Francis, it’s...it’s kind of late.” 

“Oh, right.” He says softly, “Yes, you should go to sleep.”

“As should you.”

“I will try.”

“Okay.” She smiles a small smile, “Bye-”

“Wait!” He says quickly, “I almost forgot.” She sighs heavily before she asks what, “I want to talk to you more often.” He says, “Like this.”

“I don't think-”

“Please? I miss talking to you.” He says softly and she thinks he sounds a little bit like a little boy and maybe that’s what makes her nod. He won't remember by morning, so what's the harm in saying yes.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you can call me every now and then.” She tells him softly, “But if it's at three in the morning, I might have to kill you.”

“Understood.”

“Bye, Francis.” She hangs up after that and turned her phone off before lying back down. 


	2. I Can't Stop Drinking About You

_ “Take the light away, it tyrannizes me. _ _   
_ _ It denies me, my soul.” _

_ -/- _

It’s days like today that make Mary wonder why she even does this job. There’s a slow decline in clients this month, unlike the last month when she had more calls than she knew what to do with. The elections are all done, so she supposes no one has any dirt at the moment that they need to be swept up. 

“Mary,” Aylee finds her just as she’s about to head to the conference room, “The First Lady is in your office.” She tells her and Mary blinks. Catherine hasn't been in this building in so long, and she turns sharply on her heels to find an abundance of SS Agents by her door and around her office. 

“Madam First Lady,” Mary greets the woman as she closes the door lightly, “What can I do for you?” 

“It would appear the Penelope problem will not be subsiding anytime soon,” Catherine says dryly as she fixes her lipstick in the tiny mirror hung on Mary's wall. “She’s pregnant.”

“What?”

“Allegedly.”

“Allegedly?”

“Henry is careful.” She tells her, “He’s a disgusting manwhore, but he is a  _ careful  _ one.” She sighs heavily, “If the little harlot is pregnant, I can guarantee it isn't his.”

“And you want me to what?”

“Get rid of her.”

“I don't...I don't do murder, Catherine.” The First Lady rolls her eyes dramatically

“I didn't say kill her.” She snaps, “Just...scare her a little, you can do that.” Catherine fixes her broach before turning back to Mary. “She’s threatening to go to the press if Henry doesn't grant her an audience, I diverted her a little but she will come back. I can't have this come out, even if the child doesn't belong to him-”

“The public will believe it until there’s proof otherwise.” Mary finishes for her.

“I will pay you.”

“I-”

“I know business has been...slow, and believe me, the number of messes you’ve had to clean up for my idiot husband; you deserve an entire trust fund.” Catherine pats her shoulders and then moves towards the door, “I have to get back, I trust that you’ll see to this.” It's the last thing she says before she’s leaving and as Mary watched her go, she wonders if the woman actually loved Henry as much as she did so many years ago. She runs her hands over her face and sighs heavily. She checks her phone, she doesn't know why it's been two days since Francis called her. She doesn't know why she keeps hoping that he might do so again.

Nevertheless, she has work to do now.

_ -/- _

Since leaving the White House in shame, Penelope has kept mostly to herself. She got a small place on Berkley, she has a popular food blog now. She likes to jog in the park in the mornings and then visit her favorite Chinese restaurant for lunch. She walks her dog, Benji, before dinner, and she can often be seen talking on the phone inside her house and pacing. 

Aylee went over the day before with an empty dog collar and leash and big, fake tears as she sobbed out that her dog just  _ ran _ out of nowhere. 

“I Just...I don't...and he...oh-” She cries.

“Okay, uh.” Penelope says quickly as she starts to step out of the house, “Which way did he go?” She asks frantically as a gross sobbing Aylee points off in the distance. “I’ll help you, what's his name?” That seems to stump the girl and she pauses for a second, feigns that she’s out of breath and Mary rolls her eyes.

“Nixon.” Mary breathes from her car, her voice goes from mouth to air, to earpiece.

“ _ Nixoooon! _ ” Aylee cries as she collides with Penelope's shoulder and the girl wraps her petite arms around Mary’s friend. “Can you help me find him?”

“Yeah, of course!” Penelope says when Aylee pulls back and then she’s grabbing her own leash with a large brown mass of fur at the end of it, and they’re off in the direction Aylee pointed. 

“Go.” Mary says and a few moments later, Greer walks up the sidewalk with a stroller and dark sunglasses, “Did she lock the door?”

“Oh, sweet Mary, locks don't stop me.” Greer tsks as she reaches behind a bush in front of the house and slings a bag over her shoulder. It takes her two seconds to pick the lock and then she’s inside. 

“Be quick.”

“I got it, babe.” Greer hums, “Just let me work.”

“I didn't know Aylee could cry like that.” Mary can still hear her sniffling in her ear, “Make sure to hide them well.”

“Don't I always?” Greer asks in a whisper and she can hear her moving things and then clicking the small cameras in place, more movement, more clicking and then the door opens again and she throws the bag in the stroller and off she goes. 

“Did you lock the door?”   
“Yes.” Greer tells her, “Aylee you can come back now.” Mary sends her a text that it’s done. 

“Oh, thank goodness.” The girl sniffles, “My mom found him, thank you so much for helping me.”

Back at the firm, they stand around the table and Aylee pulls up the feed. For hours it seems like Penelope just seems to sit around and read, maybe exercise a bit, eat here and there. Nothing to suggest that she isn't pregnant, but nothing to suggest that she is. 

That is until she’s opening the door for someone.

“You’re late.” She tells him, he mutters an apology, as she pushes him down on the couch.

“What's the hurry?” He asks when she’s crawling on top of him, straddling his hips.

“I need to get pregnant.” She tells him and then she’s lifting her tank and throwing it on the floor. She leans down to sweep her lips over his, “If we want more money than we know what to do with.” She breathes as she starts to move her hip, “Remember Diane?” That's the last thing she says before he surges forward to meet her lips and what happens next is...well, it’s disgusting.

“ _ In front of Benji? _ ” Aylee’s face twists in horror and Mary shakes her head.

“Turn it off.” She says quickly and Greer presses a button to make the screen go black. “Send me the audio from their... _ encounter _ .”

_ -/- _

“Ms. Bennet,” Mary says loudly as she intercepts the girls' morning jog, she’s in a sports bra and track pants. She’s dripping with sweat and she’s pretty sure Penelope's face paled a bit when she saw who was calling for her. She gathers herself quickly.

“What do you want?” She asks on a breath as she stretches, “Can't you see I’m busy?”

“Hm, yes, exercise is good for the baby,” She hums, “Sit.” She offers her a park bench in the shade, away from patrons and Penelope frowns as she walks over, she doesn't sit though.

“Who sent you? Henry?” She questions, “Is he trying to scare me into not coming forward?” 

“Henry is the least of your worries, sweetie, he isn't the one lying about a pregnancy.” 

“I’m _ not _ lying.” She spats, as she steps back and Mary just quirks a brow and pats the seat next to her with a sweet smile. 

“I think I told you to sit down.” She says with a sigh, “Or am I going to have to make you?” Her eyes cast over to Greer, who sits nursing a doll, it looks like a real baby and if you didn't know any better you would think it was. She coos, and rocks on her bench. Penelope shuffles and then she swallows a heavy lump in the back of her throat, and she finally sits. 

“I just want-”

“Henry didn't send me.” She tells her, “That is the honest truth,”

“He doesn't even know, does he?”

“No.” She says, “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

“He loves me.” It makes Mary laugh, “And he will love our baby.” Again, she laughs. 

“What? Did he sell you pretty words wrapped in pretty lies? You’re old enough to be his daughter, you think he loves you? He used you.”

“No-”

“Think about it, Penelope, when the press was dragging you through the mud, where was he? Hm? Because he wasn't looking for you, he wasn't drying your tears, he left you to fend for yourself and he will do that again if you go to the press.” She snaps, “Especially since it isn't true.”

“Excuse me? I  _ am  _ pregnant.”

“If you are it isn't his.”

“Who the hell do you think-” She rolls her eyes as she pulls the recorder out of her bag and doesn't waste time before pressing play and there’s Penelope's voice, clear as day. 

“How did you…” She asks softly and her voice is barely above a whisper, “You  _ bitch _ , you bugged my house!?” She stands up now and Mary stands too. 

“Technically my associates did, I just gave the order.”

“You’re insane.” She hisses.

“You’re the one bringing strange men into your home to impregnate you so that you can use the President of the United States as a personal piggy bank.” Mary says with a shrug, “But who am I to judge?” Penelope doesn't say anything, she just fixes her ponytail and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“What do you want?” She asks after a while. 

“I want to not be chasing down Henry’s past lovers.” She says with a sigh and then she’s reaching back into her bag, “This is a new passport, driver's license, I.D. and Social.” She holds the folder out to the girl before reaching back into her bag, “And twenty-thousand dollars.” Penelope's eyes pop out of her head at the bulging orange package. 

“There’s more, once you’re settled, Greer will wire the rest to you. It's untraceable, so don't try.”

“Why?” She asks softly, “You can't just send me away. I have a life here!”

“And it's over now.” She tells her, “Go wherever you want, start a new life, make better choices, Penny. Make some friends and maybe find a nice guy, settle down. In ten years, write a book. I don't care.” 

“How many people have you done this to?”

“I’m not forcing you to do anything. I’m simply suggesting that you leave because if you stay here, you run the risk of causing problems and I specialize in getting rid of problems. I will have you blacklisted, you getting another job it won't happen, you will only be known as the Presidents jilted little love affair, who faked a pregnancy to get back in the limelight. Do you want to be that girl? Do you want to be ruined? Because I can do that, I can do that for you. One call to The New Yorker, or CNN and so many people will be digging through your history, every single thing you wanted to keep buried will suddenly be unburied.” She pauses, “So what will it be?”

“You’re a very strange person.” She whispers, but she takes the package and the folder. 

“A word of advice,” She says, “The next time a married man tells you he loves you. Don't believe him.”

_ -/- _

Her phone screen is still blank and she debates just calling him her damn self, but her finger hovers over his name and she doesn't do it. She tosses her phone on the coffee table and leans back on the couch. As she’s tipping her wine glass to her lips, her phone does buzz and she would be embarrassed if anyone other than her saw the way she dives for it. 

**Lola:** _ “Dad is fine, be back to work tomorrow.” _ Mary frowns but she sends back an Ok and tosses her phone back on the table with a groan. Lola’s father had a heart attack a week ago, it was front page for days. Her father was a senator, he was also running against Henry during the election and he almost won. She’s glad he’s okay and that he’s going to pull through. 

Her finger hovers over his name again, but she just keeps backing out. 

Until she accidentally presses the call button and it rings. 

“Oh no!” She sucks in a breath and quickly presses the end call button but he probably already saw it and she wants the floor to open up and swallow her alive when she sees he’s _ calling her back.  _

She almost doesn't answer it, she almost just ignores it but it’s Francis and he’ll one hundred percent come to her door if he thinks something is wrong. So. She answers it.

“Did you call me just now?” Francis asks and she hates that she can hear the smirk, the one that used to make her insides turn to mush. It still does, but she’ll never admit it. 

“Uh…” She swallows, “Yeah...sorry.” 

“Bad day?” 

“You have no idea.”

“I would if you tell me.”

“I gave a girl thousands of dollars to disappear.” She says softly, “And I told her if she didn't, I would ruin her freaking life, just because I can.” He doesn't say anything, he’s mostly quiet, but she can hear the faint sound of something liquid hitting glass. 

“What did she do?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, on the off chance she didn't do anything; wow Mary, why would you do that? And on the off chance that she  _ did  _ do something, job well done, I salute you.” He sighs. 

“She was trying to get pregnant so that she could trap your father into giving her millions of dollars in hush money.” Mary says softly and then she groans, “Which, in the end, it wasn't a smart plan because paternity tests are a thing, but I think she was planning on skipping town before the paternity could be disproved.” 

“You just gave her a head start.” He doesn't sound at all bothered by her reasoning, he probably isn't surprised. If she were him, she wouldn't be surprised either. 

“Francis?” 

“Yes?”

“Are you drinking?” She asks softly because she can hear him pouring more of whatever it is he’s drinking. She hopes it’s just water. “You don't drink.” 

“Are you judging me?” He asks, 

“Ms.  _ I-have-to-have-three-glasses-a-wine-before-I-even-think-about-going-to-bed? _ ” 

“I’m worried about you,” Mary tells him honestly, she is, Francis doesn't drink. Not this much at least, “Do you remember the other night?”

“When you came over and I yelled at you?”

“After that.” She says, “When you called me.” He pauses, seems to be thinking and she waits, but she doesn't think he remembers it.

“I do.”

“You never called me.”

“I figured that you only said yes because you thought I’d be too drunk to remember asking you.” He says softly. 

“I did. But I was...I was secretly hoping that you would.” She admits it softly, “And it’s not three glasses, I have cut it down to two.” She jokes when he goes quiet. She doesn't want her admission to change anything, she doesn't want him to think her need for space is lessened any.. She still needs it, she still can't look him in the eyes, but she can hear his voice now. That’s an improvement. 

“I’ll call you.” He tells her, “If that’s what you want. Just not at three in the morning or before you’ve had your coffee, I value my life too much to lose it over a rookie mistake.”

_ -/- _

“Tall, dark, and spooky is back,” Greer says dryly as she carries a box of old files down the stairs and Mary frowns as she turns back to Lola. 

“Oh for the love god.” Mary groans, “I need a favor.”

“You’re asking me for favors?” She asks, “I feel so powerful.”

“Check on Francis, he’s been...acting strange.” She says quickly. It was another night of drunk calling, she thinks maybe he isn't taking the whole plane crash thing well. Tomorrow is the memorial for everyone who lost their lives and it will probably only make the trauma worse, but Henry is insistent that he goes. “ _ Now _ .” She adds with extra emphasis when Lola just stands there and then when she’s off, she’s headed back to her office to deal with Mr. Tall, dark, and spooky. 

“I told my mother I don't need a bodyguard.” She doesn't hide the annoyance in her voice as she closes the door. “So, stop showing up here.” She unbuttons her coat and he steps behind her to help ease it down her shoulders. 

“No.” She says quickly as she sucks in a startled breath and spins around to face him. “Louis.”

“Ms. Stuart.”

“Mary.” She corrects softly.

“Mary.” He says with a small smile and then he’s handing her a to-go cup of something warm. Louis Conde. She’s sure that isn't his last name, she thinks he changed it a long time ago to distance himself from his father and his party animal brother. He never left them, he’s the type of guy who sticks around until he’s needed. 

A pain in her ass.

“What do you want?” She asks as she walks to her desk, “How much is my mother paying you to follow me around?” She asks as she reaches in a drawer and pulls out a checkbook. She uses this one specifically for when Clients need a little push. 

“I’m not at liberty to say.” He smirks and she rolls her eyes, “I know you don't like this.”

“A strange man who follows me around all day every day? No, I  _ love  _ it please do it  _ more _ .” She says sarcastically. 

“Your mother just wants to make sure you’re safe.” He says gently, softly, she thinks a little tenderly but she’s too busy restraining herself from strangling him. 

“I don't want or need a babysitter.” 

“Good. Because that’s not what I am.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Probably.” 

“No, you are!” She shouts it at him, he just looks like he’s having fun. He’s enjoying this and she wants desperately to throttle him. She tacks on a sweet smile.

“ _ Get out _ .” She says, “Before I have you thrown out.” He doesn't say anything, he just folds his arms over his chest and tacks on a cocky grin and she wants to slap it right off his face. 

“Alright.” He smirks, “I’ll go, but just know I’m always watching.”

“Creep!” She shouts as he leaves and when he’s finally gone, she sits down with a huff. She wishes she never told her mom what happened, what happened in this office because now she has some Chuck Norris wannabe following her around and reporting Mary’s every move back to her. She runs her hands over her face and sighs heavily. 

“Remember that creepy senator with like three ex-wives?” Greer asks when she pokes her head in the door, “He’s here and he’s refusing to leave until he speaks to you.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Mary mutters as she stands. 

It’s colder today than it was yesterday and she supposes that has to do with Summer slowly turning into fall than what she has to do right now. It’s for her client, as creepy as he is, but still.   
She doesn't always enjoy these tedious things. 

“Hello?” She asks when she answers her phone, it’s been a full day since she last saw Louis, but she knows he’s still around. He’s always around.

“Told you I’d call you,” Francis says and he sounds better, less troubled than the day before. 

“You made me wait a few days.” She sighs, “Thought you changed your mind.” She stops on the green grass to let the line of schoolchildren pass and then she’s back on her route. It’s a field trip, History Day, tomorrow the kids get to tour the White House and meet the First Lady and she wonders if Catherine is looking forward to it or if she’ll tack on one of her signature _for the camera_ smiles and grit her teeth. 

“Where are you right now?” Francis asks. 

“On my way to the Attorney General's office.”

“Do I want to know?” He asks and she sighs, probably not.

“It's for a client.” She hums, “I need a favor.” She needs him to drop the investigation into her client because it's obvious he’s being framed. Greer figured that out within five minutes of meeting him. As creepy as he is, he’s no murderer. If he doesn't drop it, this time tomorrow he’ll be stopped by the FBI on the way to his flight and magically be caught with a few pounds of highly illegal drugs. 

“I forgot how terrifying you are.”

“It's been a slow month.”

“I never said thank you.” He says suddenly

“For?”

“Cleaning up my fathers' many messes.” He sighs, “Thanks.”

“So, you’re not mad at me?”

“Your stunt did generate a few more donations. However, don't  _ ever  _ do that again.”

“You should let people see what you do, Francis.”

“Why? So it can be spun as some desperate attempt at publicity?”

“No.” She says softly, “So it can be admired.”

“Cute and unlikely.” He says on a sigh, “Oh. I have something to ask you.” He says suddenly and she quirked a brow, “The Correspondents dinner. Are you going?”

“Didn't know I was invited.”

“You should be.” He says, “Considering you got him in the Oval.”

“Um-”

“I’ll say something to him.”

“No.” She says quickly, “Don't...Fancy dinners in fancy gowns aren't really my thing.”

“You have to go.” He says and she laughs because it almost sounds like a whine, “Please?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Think fast. It's in like a month.”

“I have to go, Francis.” She says softly and then she’s saying goodbye and hanging up.

_ -/- _

“Hey, Boss lady,” Greer pokes her head in her office, “It's done.” She tells her and Mary stands to go to the conference room to find Aylee gaping at the screen. 

“Good.” She says when she sees the Attorney General being led out of the airport in handcuffs. 

“Did it have to be cocaine?” Aylee asks.

“It was either that or planting a dead hooker in his bed,” Mary says casually as she pulls her coat off the hook.

“I can't tell if you’re joking and that scares me.”

“It should.”

“Where the hell would you get a dead hooker?!” 

“Oh, sweet Aylee.” Mary says softly as she pats the top of her blonde friend's head, “Never change. Night.”

The elevator that leads up to her apartment is slow as hell, but it’s quiet and that’s what she longs for right now. 

“Good evening Ms. Stuart.” 

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” She whispers when she walks out, she doesn't even meet his eyes as she walks over to her door and pulls out her keys. “Following me home now?” She asks. 

“Technically I didn't follow you, I was here first,  _ you  _ followed  _ me _ ,” Louis smirks from his place her door and he leans on the wall. “It's a shame what happened to the Attorney General, never pictured him as a cocaine guy.”

“Yes, he hid his habit well.” She mutters as she shoves her key in the hole and twists with more force than she intended. 

“Indeed.” He smirks and she knows that he knows. He doesn't question her, no one really does, they just let her work. “Busy day.”

“Yes, a very busy day.” She tries not to glare at him. She can't believe he knows where she lives now, but he probably always had. He probably has a thick, beautiful file on her somewhere that he adds notes to like a psychopath. “Stalking and small talk now?”

“I’m a man of many talents.”

“Yeah.” She hums, “If I ever catch you outside my window watching me change, I have a steak knife with your name on it.” She says sweetly.

“Please.” He scoffs, “You’d never see me.” She makes a face at that, “I’m a gentleman, I would never watch a woman change.”

“I don't believe you.” She squints at him.

“There’s a lot of freaks out there.” He hums, “I knew a guy who liked to watch his romantic interests bathe.” He whispers that like it's a secret and her face twists in disgust, she pushes her door open. 

“Bye Louis.”

“Sleep tight.”

“Are you going to stand out here all night?” She asks when he doesn't make like he’s going to leave. He just stays where he is, leaning on the wall. 

“Will it make you feel safe?” She doesn't expect the question and she doesn't expect him to ask it in such a genuine manner. He’s serious and she hates him. She nods though, doesn't meet his eyes. 

“Still creepy.” She says quickly before running inside and locking the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Quote at the beginning is by Maria Poydouri.   
> Also, sorry I forgot to name the first chapter and I didn't set this story to have multiple chapters. I'm still learning. :)


	3. Lose You To Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter does talk about sexual assault towards the end.

_ “The month was November, the leaves had turned a brilliant red. _ _   
_ _ What I wanted most was time to absorb something  _ _   
_ _ Which I already knew, I should never forget.” _

_ -/- _

She doesn't like hospitals, she never really has. Ever since she was a little girl and she broke her arm falling out of an apple tree. Hospitals are noisey, these days she doesn't like noise, noise puts her back in a place she longs not to be.    
“Where?” She asks the man in the suit and the earpiece and he points at a door down the hall where there are more men. She got a call, a frantic one, why she called her she has no idea but the door is opened and the curtain is pulled back and there she is. 

“Mary!” She smiles, “I’m glad you came.”

“Margot.” Mary smiles back, she glances at the wrap around her ankle and she waves away Mary’s concern.

“I just twisted it, really. They’re the dramatic ones.” 

“Where is your mom?” Mary asks softly as she sits on the edge of the hospital bed.

“I told them not to call her yet.” She answers simply, “I wanted to see you.” She says that softly and Mary sighs as she runs her hand through her hair. Margot is braiding a long, dark strand of her own, avoiding her eyes. 

“Margot…” Mary says softly, “We need to call your mother.” 

“Can we just talk for a few minutes before, I’m fine I promise.” She whines, “I miss you.” She sighs heavily as she shifts on the bed turning to face the girl more directly. 

“What do you want to talk about?”

“You don't come around anymore.”

“I-”

“Everything is changing.” She says softly, “I can't even go to the bathroom without being followed, my dad is in the news every other day, you stopped coming around and Francis…” She shrugs, “Everything is different now.” Catherine told her she was adjusting well, this doesn't look like she’s adjusting this looks…

“Margot.” Mary says her name gently, “Did you...hurt yourself to get me here?” She asks, it wouldn't be the first time she’s done this. Once, when her parents were occupied with prepping for the Presidential debates, Margot accidentally slipped on the stairs and hurt her head. Another time was during the primaries, she broke her finger and couldn't tell them how. There’s a pattern here and it’s a scary one. She doesn't answer, she just fidgets with her sleeve and doesn't meet her eyes. 

“Margot-”

“It’s like they forgot that I exist.” She starts softly, “I barely see my own parents anymore. It's like I go to school, I come home and then I’m all alone.” She pauses on a heavy breath, “I know it’s stupid, but it’s the only way I can seem to get them to notice me.” She isn't sure what to say, she just squeezes her fingers in her own. 

“I know that this is a lot.” Mary tells her, “So many changes in the last year, I know it’s overwhelming. I think you need to talk to someone.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“No, I mean a...a counselor.”

“I’m not crazy.” She snaps, yanking her hand out of Mary’s and folding her arms over her chest. 

“I didn't say you were.”

“I don't need a shrink.” She says softly, “I’m fine.”

“Margot, you’re hurting yourself on purpose, you are not fine.”

“I fell!” She shouts, “I’m clumsy, accidents happen!” Mary jumps off the bed, ready to try and spout some kind of reasoning with the teenager but the door opens. 

“Margot.” Catherine says gently, “Oh what happened?” She breathes when she sees the girl still sitting on her hospital bed. The girl has tears in her eyes as she reaches for her mother. She isn't sure if Catherine notices Mary is standing there as she sits on the edge of her bed and takes her daughter in her arms. 

When she looks at her, Mary mouths a firm “ _ call me. _ ” Before she leaves. 

She hasn't seen Lola in a few days, not since the morning she sent her over to see if Francis was alright, she assumes that he was fine. Seeing how Lola forgot to report back. She’s guessing it’s been about a week now. She calls her.

“Mary.” Lola greets her softly.

“Where are you?” She asks as she leaned back in her chair, “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m fine.” She sounds uneasy, “My dad...something came up about his heart again and I was dealing with that.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, he’s fine.”

“Will you be out for the rest of the week, then?” She asks, she tries to sound sympathetic but her stomach is doing that thing it does when someone is lying to her. It twists and tumbles, she doesn't want to assume that Lola is keeping something from her. It worries her, makes her think there’s more with her father than the girl is telling her.

“I think so. I’m sorry, I’m the worst employee-”

“No, Lola, it’s fine. Take care of what you need to take care of, we’re fine here.” She assures her softly, “Tell your dad I said get well soon.”

“Okay.” She says, “Thanks.” Then the line goes dead and she sighs as she sets her phone down and bites at her nail, waiting for that uneasy feeling to go away but it doesn't.

“Greer!” Mary yells and she’s in her office a second later. “Go to Lola’s apartment, see if she’s there. If she is, send her to me.” 

“Sure.” Greer nods quickly and then she’s leaving. 

Her phone rings a second later and she doesn't check it.

“Madam First Lady…” Mary greets.

“You sound cheery.” Catherine says sarcastically.

“It’s been a day.”

“It has.” She agrees, “What did you need me to call you for?” She asks after a pause and Mary sighs heavily. She isn't sure how to break it to her, how to ease into it, but she needs to know. She needs to know, even if Margot will hate her for it.

“How’s Margot?”

“Good. Home from the hospital, they have her on crutches for a week or two and then she’ll be as good as new.” She says, “I don't know where she gets the clumsiness from but that girl is always getting herself hurt.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

“Alright.”

“What if it wasn't an accident?” She asks, “She told me at the hospital that she feels alone. That you and Henry don't spend any time with her-”

“What are you implying?” That’s said on a snap and Mary would be offended if it weren't for the subject matter, she is talking about one of her kids. 

“She only gets hurt when you’re busy.” She says softly, “I asked her if she did it on purpose and she didn't deny it if anything she confirmed it.” Catherine is quiet now and she hears her shift on the other end, she exhales heavily, a groan leaving her lips after that.

“Damnit.” She breathes, “Okay, um…What do I do?” She asks softly, “How do I keep this away from the press?” Right. Mary just told her, her daughter is hurting herself and she asks about how to keep the press away. She can't have her little princess anywhere near rumors of suicidal tendencies and straight jackets. 

“I can find you a counselor who will keep this quiet, come to the White House without making a fuss.” She tells her softly, “Until then, maybe just try talking to her.”

“I’ve never been very good at talking.” She says, “I’ll do my best.” She thinks maybe she could call Francis, tell him what's going on. He can help, he was always good at the whole talking about feelings thing. But she thinks better of it, he’s had a lot to deal with already and she doesn't want to add more to his plate. 

“Let me know what happens, okay?”

“Sure.” Catherine says, “Thank you for telling me.” That’s the last thing she says before the line goes dead. If Catherine talking to her doesn't work, then she’ll tell Francis.

_ -/- _

Lola came into work for one day, Mary ended up sending her home after catching her puking in a trashcan. She said she thinks she has the flu, that was more than two weeks ago and she hasn't seen her since. The Correspondents dinner is coming up, and Mary received her invite in the mail, despite not deciding if she’ll even go yet. 

She has a big container of something hot as she walks down the hall to Lola’s apartment. She knocks on the door.

“Lola?” She questions, knocking, “I brought you some soup.” She didn't make it, but her mom did. She supposes that’s as good as it gets, she isn't a cook and this probably came out of a can. She makes a face when she doesn't open the door and she wraps her hand around the doorknob to twist it open. It’s locked, the door is locked and she sighs before peeping through the peephole in the door. It’s dark, and it doesn't look like anyone is home, so she knocks again and just sets the soup down on the doorstep before walking away. 

“You.” She slams her hands down on the table. The bar is loud and dark, but she knew he would come if she just waited. She saw him slip into a booth a few minutes after she arrived.

“Me.” Louis says with a quirk of his brow, he tilts his glass to his lips with a smirk and she makes a face at the bubbles that rise in the liquid. The centerpiece illuminates his stupid face and she shakes her head in disbelief. 

“Are you drinking  _ soda _ ? In a Bar?” She asks with a tilt of her head. 

“I don't drink on the job.” He tells her and she frowns.

“Right, I’m just a job to you.”

“Best job I’ve ever had.” He hums and the flirty undertones make her stomach lurch. And she scoffs softly as she sets her purse down on the table.

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don't flirt with me.” She snaps and he leans back in his seat, “I need your help.”

“Finally, I was getting bored just watching you.”

“Gross.” She says as she slides in the seat across from him. “You’re a strange person.”

“You said you needed help,” He says quickly, anxious to get a move on this new assignment it seems and she shifts in her seat. 

“My friend.” She says softly, “She’s missing.” He tilts his head, squinting at her like he wants her to continue. Lola is missing, she hasn't seen her since she caught her upchucking her lunch in the trash can in her office, she hasn't been answering her calls or her texts and she doesn't come to the door when she goes over. It doesn't look like anyone's been home in days. For all Mary knew, Lola could be buried somewhere. 

“Finding your friends is not a part of my job description.” He says simply, he makes to stand but Mary grabs him without thinking about it, a hurried please leaves her lips. She hasn't touched a man in a long time, it feels weird and his arm is strong under her fingers. She thinks maybe he could lift a truck. She’s desperate, this happened a few years ago, a boy who used to work for her was murdered and she found him in the conference room. Someone had placed him there for her to see. He was killed because of her, that can't happen to Lola.

“I’m begging.” She whispers it, her voice is shaky now. She doesn't recognize it. His brown eyes flick down to her hand and then she pulls it away quickly. He sits down slowly.

“When was the last time you saw her?” He asks softly and she pulls out a pad of paper and a pen from her purse. She doesn't describe what she looks like, he probably already knows. She’s a political child, everyone knows her face. She writes down her address. 

“I was at her apartment a few days ago but I don't think anyone was home.” She explains as she slides the paper over to him.

“Do you want me to break in?”

“I don't know what you do or where my mother found you, but I’m going to go ahead and assume that you can.”

“I can.”

“Discreetly.” 

“She won't even know I was there.” He assures her and then he’s putting his hand over hers on the table. She’s sure he means it to be friendly but that doesn't stop her stomach from propelling itself to her throat. “I’ll find your friend, don't worry.”

“Good.” She yanked her hand away and holds it to her chest like a wounded bird. “Do it quickly.” She tells him as she stands and leaves.

_ -/- _

Francis doesn't call her anymore, she tries not to take it personally, he’s a busy man with a busy life and his busy life doesn't involve her anymore. She could call him, or text him, just say hi and remind him that she exists. Her text goes unanswered though and it makes her chest feel weird, sad, as she approaches her apartment door and pulls out her keys. 

The atmosphere feels off as she kicks off her heels and tosses her keys on the table by the door. Her eyes dart around the darkroom and she tiptoes as quietly as she can to the compartment under her kitchen counter, something heavy falling in her hand. 

The dark figure moves in the corner of her eye and she raises it as she spins around. 

“What are you doing here?” She asks quickly, it’s been a full day since she enlisted his help in finding Lola and she expected him to take a little longer, but here he is.

“Why do you have a gun?” Louis asks as he puts his hands up in surrender. 

“Why are you in my apartment?”

“Fair.” He nods, and he reaches slowly in his jacket and pulls out an orange folder, he tosses it on the table, eyes not leaving hers, “Found your friend.” He says and she puts the gun down on the table next to the folder that Louis threw down.

“Couldn't lead with that?”

“You’re the one with the gun.” He tells her as he stands next to her, “She isn't harmed.” He says when he sees her hesitate to open it, not sure about the contents. She surely doesn't want to see Lola’s body, decayed and bloated. She opens it when he assures her and it’s just photos of her friend in a hoodie and dark sunglasses walking into a women's center. “She’s been checking in with a fake name.”

“Why is she-” The question is stopped when Louis pulls out a small baggy and tosses that on the table too. It’s a pregnancy test, and upon closer inspection, a  _ positive  _ one. Her stomach plummets. 

“Okay, first of all, ew you  _ took  _ that?”

“I wore gloves.” He tells her softly.

“That’s...that’s disgusting.” She says, her face twisting in disgust, she shakes her head. “Lola’s pregnant.” She whispers, “Oh my god.” She breathes. 

“She has another appointment tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.”

“To terminate.”

“What!?” She whirls around on him, that doesn't sound like Lola and she pulls at her hair, “Oh. My. God.” She wants to know how he knows that, how he found that out but she thinks it's better if she doesn't know and she breathes a heavy sigh as she runs her hand over her face. Louis doesn't say anything, he just stands there looking indifferent. She supposes this doesn't affect him, it doesn't have anything to do with him and he wouldn't care. 

“You can go now.” She tells him.

“Are you going to pay me?” He asks with a quirk of his brow. “I don't work for free.”

“Um...okay.” She says as she reaches for her purse, “How much-”

“I don't want your money.”

“What do you want?”

He smiles.

_ -/- _

A date. He wants a date, a get dressed up and go out to dinner;  _ date _ . She agrees only because she owes him one for finding Lola, but that’s all it is, a payment; a thank you. Nothing more, never anything more than that. She doesn't even  _ like  _ him. It won't amount to anything, she won't let it. 

They’re just going to dinner after she talks to Lola and she figures out what’s going on there. The man must be lonely, she can't imagine he has any friends with how secretive he is. 

The women's center is downtown and she goes in through the back. She can't be caught coming in here, she doesn't need pregnancy rumors circling her, she doesn't even want to know how Francis would react to that. She finds Lola in the waiting room, leg crossed over one as she flips through a pregnancy booklet in her plastic chair. She doesn't say anything as she approaches, not until she’s easing herself in one of the chairs next to her friend.

“You stopped coming to work.” Mary whispers and the girl jumps.

“Mary, what are you-”   
“You disappeared.” She says softly, “Did you think I wasn't going to look for you?” She asks and then she’s reaching for Lola’s hand, notices her nails have been chewed down to the skin. She squeezes her fingers.

“Mary, I-”   
“Why didn't you tell me?” 

“I wanted to…” She whispers, “I was going to...after-”

“Lola.” She says softly, “You don't have to do this.” She knows her, she knows Lola, she wouldn't do this. She was raised in a strictly religious household, she’s pro-life. She would never terminate her own pregnancy. Her stomach twists with a sudden thought and her hand tightens around her fingers. “Did someone hurt you?” She asks it more firmly now, demanding almost for an answer. 

“No. No, it wasn't like that.” She says softly. 

“Is the father...is he a bad person?” She really can't fathom why Lola is here, how she ended up here, “Is he making you-”

“No, he doesn't even know.” Lola says as she holds her head in her hand, “Mary...please just stop asking questions.” She’s crying now and some of the other girls here, stir uncomfortably. 

“You don't want to do this.”

“Mary-”

“Lola.”

“Stop.” It's said on a snap and she yanked her hand out of Mary’s grasp to pull at her brown curls. Lola has been acting strangely for so long, and she squints at her.

“You started...skipping work after I sent you to check on Francis.” She says slowly and Lola doesn't look at her and Mary straightens, “Lola look at me.” She does and she sees the shame hidden in her grey eyes, how it simmers under the surface and she swallows hard before she says it, “Please, tell me you just picked up some gross stranger from a bar and took him home.”

“Mary.”

“Do not.” She gasps, “Do not tell me you are pregnant with Franc-” She can't even finish it, she feels like she can't even breathe and she holds her stomach as it churns.

“I’m so sorry…” Lola cries softly, “I’m sorry…”

“Oh my god.” She feels like she is going to be sick and she isn't even the pregnant one, she completely forgets for a second where they are as she tries to gather herself enough to not slap her friend as hard as she can. 

“I wanted to get this done and then just forget and I...I should have known that you would look for me but I didn't know how to tell you-”

“Lola.” She holds her hand up to stop her, takes a few seconds to just breathe. The name she used is called and she stands.

“I’m going to take care of it.” Part of her wants to let her do it, let her body be scraped and prodded and all the evidence to be erased. But this is Lola and she doesn't want to do this, she can tell in the way that she moves. She gathers herself and then she’s standing, she can't break right now. 

“No.” She says quickly, “You don't want to do this-”

“Mary I-”

“You’re not doing this for you, you’re doing it for me.” She tells her softly, “If it were just some other guys would you be here?” She asks her, Lola swallows hard but she doesn't answer. Mary grabs her shoulders, “Stop thinking about what I’m going to say and what I’m going to feel. This is about you, what do you want to do?”

“I…” She pauses, “I don't want to...do this.” She whispers and then she’s crying in Mary's shoulder, she shakes her head at the nurse and she just calls the next person on her list. 

She watches Lola pace in the back, hands on her hips, red puffy eyes as she thinks.

“He can't know.” She tells her suddenly, “He can never know.”

“Lola-”

“I worked too hard to get here.” She says softly, “I graduated top of my class, I’m the daughter of a senator, I’ve done too much to just be resorted to the President's sons baby mama.” 

“That's too long.” Mary says, “No, they’d call you his mistress. Like they did with Diane.” Lola would essentially become Diane to the eyes of the public and Francis, Francis would be his father and then everything good he ever did will be forgotten. He’ll just be known as the guy who had a baby out of wedlock and Lola would be a whore. This would be the downfall of both of them. She knows that too, it was so bad that Bash had to go into hiding and Mary doesn't even know where he is now. Francis might, but she doubts he’d tell her. 

“He can never know.” Lola says softly, “Never.”   
“He can never know,” Mary repeats it and she swallows the anger that wraps it's way up her throat long enough to step back and look at this from a different angle. “Then we need a game plan.”

“Guess I’m your client now,” Lola whispers as her eyes flood with tears again and Mary nods as she pulls her in. 

_ -/- _

The drink burns as it makes her way down her throat and she taps her glass to signal she’s ready for another. She’s lost count of how many she’s had at this point and the room spins slowly. She doesn't hear him approach her, jumps when he seems to just materialize next to her. She should have figured he’d pop up at some point as he’s always around, hovering like a ghost.

Casper the Annoying ghost.

“You stood me up,” Louis says from beside her and she hums her acknowledgment as she tips her now full glass to her lips. “I don't like being stood up.”

“Been a day Louis, wasn't feeling up to it.” She says dryly, “Oops.”

“Mary.”

“What?”

“On a scale of one to ten, how are drunk are you right now?” He asks and she sighs like she’s thinking about it.

“I don't know like...apricot.” She tells him, she’s fully aware that apricot is not a suitable answer, it’s not even a number, but drunk Mary stopped caring about the technicality of things a long time ago. Louis nods slowly before he takes her drink from her fingers and sets it down.

“I think that’s enough.” He says softly, “Come on-” He reaches and she jerked away so hard she almost falls off the barstool. 

“Don't.” It's said on a frightened breath as she hops off her seat, she almost stumbles now and she grabs the bar counter to steady herself. Louis looks concerned as he pulls out his wallet and throws a wad of bills down. 

“Mary.” He says softly when he looks at her again. She has tears in her eyes now, she feels like a scared child and she runs her hands through her hair with a soft whimper.

“Can you take me home?” She asks him in something that sounds like her voice but it’s small and soft and childlike. 

He’s easing her down on her couch gently a moment later before dropping to remove her shoes, she doesn't tell him to stop but the room is spinning and, if she’s honest, it takes her an embarrassing amount of time to realize they’re back at her apartment. 

“I’m gonna get you some water.” He says softly as he stands and then he’s in her kitchen. She hears him find a glass and fill it and then he’s coming back. She pulls him down to sit next to her. The room is spinning but for some reason, he makes the room spin less. 

“Lola is pregnant.” She says softly.

“Yes.”

“With Francis’ baby.” She whispers that and it hurts just saying it and she doesn't expect Louis to know him or to know why that hurts her. He just shrugs. 

“Blonde pixie stick looking dude?” He questions and she laughs despite herself but hits him with a glare. She’d slap him if she wasn't so dizzy, Francis is beautiful and she would kill anyone who said otherwise. 

“Take that back.” She says seriously, “Are you single, I’m looking for a husband.” She tells him without even thinking about what that sounded like. Drunk Mary can't really think right now. The plan she has for Lola is dumb, but it's a plan. She’s going to get married in the next few weeks. She just has to find a guy and spin it as the greatest love story to happen to since Romeo and Juliet. They’ll be making movies about them for years. Or something. It’s just so Francis doesn't question the paternity of Lola’s child, he can doubt but he can't accuse her of anything, he wouldn't do that. 

Greer and Aylee are scouting for eligible bachelors who wouldn't mind marrying someone who is already pregnant.

“While I am honored for the offer, I’m not really the marrying type.”

“Not for me, for Lola.”

“Because she’s pregnant?” She nods, “Why doesn't she just marry Fr-”

“He’s  _ mine _ !” The sound that comes out of her is a cross between a snap and a hiss and Louis’ eyebrows shoot up at that, “Or he was.” She says that softly as she flops back against the cushions, “He’s not anymore.”

“Why?” Louis asks and he seems genuinely curious, “He didn't get another person pregnant, did he?”

“No it was me.” She says as she toys with the frayed edges of the pillow she’s holding on her lap. Louis doesn't say anything he just gives her a questioning look. “I left him.”

“Hm.” He hums his acknowledgment as he watches her, he seems curious, content to just let her talk to him and she finds that it’s easy too. So, she tells him.

“We were gonna go to Paris.” She tells him, “Before Henry announced he was running.” She sighed, “I had a client whose son went missing and he wanted help finding him. He couldn't go to the cops, we weren't allowed to enlist the help of the FBI or anything. He was a priest.”

“The son or-”

“Son was a minister.” She says softly, but she thinks that's the same thing, it doesn't matter. “We found him, someone had hung him from a cross, in the middle of nowhere, he was tortured. He had been dead for weeks before we found him and his father was so mad that we didn't get to him fast enough.”

“It wasn't your fault.” He says softly.

“I know.” She tells him with a shrug, “I knew that. But one night...I stayed late at my office to take care of the paperwork and Francis, he was supposed to pick me up from there and go straight to the airport. There was an accident and he got stuck behind it.”

“What happened?”

“The client, he came in with two other men. They were angry, they kept saying it was my fault that his son died. At first, it was just noise, they were just yelling, they broke some things. I tried to explain that he was dead long before he came to us but he wouldn't listen. He started hitting me and I guess that...turned him on? Because then it wasn't just hitting anymore, they were holding me down.”

“Oh my god.” He looks disgusted, sad, angry, as he shifts on the couch and she swallows the hard lump in her throat. It's been a long time since she’s talked about it, she’s not even sure if she has before. Not the whole story but here she is, drunk and telling this stranger.

“Francis found me on the floor after.” She’ll never forget the look on his face as he shook her awake, gently, told her help was coming. “I remember thinking if he had just been a few minutes earlier, he could have stopped it.” She hated him, more than she thought she could hate anyone. It’s such a strange feeling. Loving someone so much but also hating them. She could hardly stand to have him look at her.

Louis doesn't say anything, he just watches her with a careful eye, and she sips her water. 

“And now he’s having a baby with my friend.” She sighs. “So, he’s not mine anymore.” He hadn't been for such a long time, but it really hits her now and she can't breathe as her body folds in on itself. “Why did she have to sleep with him?” She cries when her head collides with Louis’ shoulder. He pats her back as he attempts to comfort her, poor man, she wonders if her mom told her what he was in for.

“Oh Mary,” He says softly, “It's alright.” He’s doing his best but she can tell he isn't the comforting type but he does his best. She thinks this is stupid, Francis can sleep with whoever he wants, he’s an adult. Lola is an adult. She let Francis go, she set him free, he can do whoever he pleases. She pulls back slowly, wiping at her eyes.

“I’m...sorry.” She sniffles as she thumbs the wet spot on his blue shirt. 

“It’s alright.” He says softly with a small smile, “Hate this shirt.” He whispers and she breathes a laugh but doesn't move her hand. She’s drunk, that’s the only explanation for what she does next. She’s drunk and hurt and sad and Louis is here, he’s nice and he’s warm.

Her lips meet his softly, hesitantly, and he tenses but he kisses her back. It’s been a while since she’s kissed anyone, it's nice. It's soft and warm and slow. Louis pulls away quickly, holds her at arm's length. 

“Drunk.” He says quickly, “You’re drunk.” He says when she tries to move back in, his arms are stretched and they feel like steel beams. “No, Mary, it...no.” He’s trying to let her down easy and maybe sober Mary would appreciate this but all she feels is rejected, unwanted,  _ tainted  _ and drunk Mary is enraged. 

“Get out.” She snaps with an unsteady voice as she stands.

“Mary-”

“Get out!” She screams it now and she doesn't wait to see if he leaves, she just goes to her room and slams the door shut. She hears his feet hit the floor a moment later and when her apartment door closes gently, she sinks to the floor, tears rushing out of her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna run away before you guys yell at meeee.  
> Quote at the beginning by Vita Sackville-west from "Note of Another Country."


	4. Meet Your Match

“ _ One opportunity leads directly to another, just as risk leads to more risk, life to more life, and death to more death. _ ”

_ -/- _

She dreams of Francis that night, as she often does, but this one is different. She dreams of meeting him at the Lincoln Memorial, where they sit on the steps and they talk about all the what was and what could have beens. They laugh and she tells him that she loves him, she chooses him in the end and she wakes when she grabs his hand. 

Her head hurts and she groans as she pulls her blanket over her head to block out the sun. She remembers all of it, she remembers crying on Louis’ shoulder, she remembers telling him what happened to her. She remembers the way his mouth felt against hers, how her head was swimming, how she longed for him in her drunken state. She remembers the anger that settled in her stomach like a weight and coiled it's way up her throat, the hate she felt. 

She remembers the look on his face when he rejected her. 

She rolls out of bed, determined not to think about it, and hopes beyond hope that she doesn't see him today. She’s met with Kenna’s smiling face when she opens the door to her apartment with a groan. 

“You’re awake.” She says with a grin.

“Uh-”

“Are you going to let me in?” She asks with a curve of her golden-brown brow. She doesn't see Kenna often, rarely really, since she chose the White House over Mary. She smiles at her like no time has passed though. 

“What are you-”

“I see Francis didn't tell you.” She says casually and Mary squints in confusion at the two long bags on hangers she’s carrying, she lies them over the arm of Mary's couch before turning around. Kenna has seen her at her worst, so she doesn't bother changing out of the oversized shirt she wears and the paint covered leggings. “You smell.” Kenna comments, “What did you do? Plow through the bars' entire menu?”

“Kenna,” Mary says softly as she pushes her tangled mess of hair back. They must paint quite the picture, Mary in her wrinkled clothes and Kenna in her designer dresses and stilettos. 

“Yes?”

“What?”

“The correspondents' dinner is in a few weeks.” She explains as she walks around and opens the curtains, Mary hisses when the sun hits her eyes; she wishes she had drank herself into a coma last night. “I brought you two Vera Wang gowns, limited edition, the red would look amazing on you by the way. I say go with that one, but the blue is nice too.”

“Kenna.”

“Hm?”

“I don't need them.”

“Well, you can't go in a T-shirt and jeans.” She gives her an odd look and sighs.

“I’m not...I’m not going.” She tells her, besides, she has a wedding to plan. She can't. 

“You...you have to go, Mary.”

“I-”

“What’s it going to look like if the President's campaign manager, former White House aide, potential daughter-in-law, and friend doesn't go. Not good.”

“Oh well?” 

“I know how you are with crowds, Mary.” She says and her expression is softer now as she approaches, her hands find her shoulders. Yes, since the  _ incident  _ crowds make her incredibly anxious. “I already tried to get you out of it, Henry is adamant that you come, Catherine too. She threatened to pick you up herself.”

“I don't want to go.”

“Is it because Francis will be there?” She asks quizzically, “You’re nervous about seeing him again after...everything?”

“No.”

“Mary-”

“I’m busy.” She says softly and Kenna makes a face, “I can't go.”

“Just…” She grabs one of the gowns off the couch and thrusts it at her, “Try this on. Take a shower first. The President is not going to take no as an answer, make an appearance, leave after.”

“Ke-”

“Less talking, more dressing.” She spins her friend around and pushes her towards the bathroom. A shower does help her aching limbs and she changes quickly. The red is bright against her skin and under the light in her bathroom. The halter neckline is snug at the top. It gathers at the waist, pulling at the fabric to accentuate the natural curve of her body, it flows to the floor in a beautiful sea of red satin, the skirt complete with a ruffled slit up her thigh. The back is completely open besides the two thin straps that form an X in the middle of her back. 

“Oooohh.” Kenna breathes when she walks, “You look amazing.” She says as she approaches and fixes the skirt so it spreads out on the floor, “When Francis sees you in this.” She smirks, “How does it fit?”

“It’s a little loose.” She tells her, ignoring her previous statement. “Kenna-”

“Don't you dare tell me you’re not going.”

“I-”

“You have toooo” She whines loudly and Mary sighs heavily, she supposes she can rework her schedule somehow but it depends entirely on where they are with Lola.

“Fine, I’ll try.”

“Yaaayy!”

“But if my client needs me-”

“Yes, yes, I know you have to trade in your princess dress for a suit of armor.” She waves a dismissive hand. She changes after that, into a simple blouse and dark jeans. 

“So, who’s the client?” She asks, “Someone we know?”

“No.” She says softly, she can't tell Kenna any of this, she’s too close to Francis, and his parents; she’ll slip. 

“Some gross politician caught with his pants down?”

“Kenna.”

“Secret Service Agent gone bad?”

“I can't tell you.” She says quickly.

“Because I don't work for you anymore?” She asks and she looks a little sad about it, but she composes herself. This is what she wanted, she wanted to work at the White House, she got that. She doesn't get to know the details of Mary’s case, she gave up that right when she abandoned her. 

“I have to go to work, Kenna, it was nice seeing you.”

_ -/- _

She’s thankful for the cloudy morning as she walks to her building, the coffee she sips does little to warm the chill of her bones and the ache in her head. 

“Mary, you look-”

“Tired.” She says and Greer nods as she walks next to her.

“Sure, let's go with that.” 

“Where are we with the-”   
“No luck.” Greer tells her, “We’re looking but, Mary, there’s been a development.” Greer says it seriously as she steps in front of her.    
Blind. Hot. Rage. It is all the words she can come up with to describe what she’s feeling right now as she heads to the conference room and closes the doors with a loud slam. Lola changed her mind, she can't do it, she doesn't want to. She doesn't want to marry some stranger, she doesn't want to spin some whirlwind love story, she doesn't want to lie to the people she loves. She doesn't want to bring a man she barely knows to family dinners, to public gatherings, to flaunt him. All of these are reasonable reasons not to do something, but it doesn't make Mary less  _ angry _ . 

“You have to do this.” She’s trying to sound calm but she fails at it as she paces the floor, Lola just stands and leans against the table. 

“Ruin my life over one mistake?” She asks softly, “I thought you’d respect-”

“ _ Respect _ you?” She spats, “I sent you to Francis to check on him. Not pull up your skirt and take him like a thief in the night.” It’s a harsh snap, it's uncalled for but she’s angry and she’s hurt. She feels rejected and unwanted and she’s throwing it all on Lola because she just happens to be in the room. 

“Is that what you think I did?” She asks, “I went to do as you asked and he was fine.”

“I’m sure he was fine once you were through with him.”

“It just happened, Mary, I didn't go with some plan to seduce him!” She snaps, “We were just talking and then the next minute he kissed me-”

“Stop.” She doesn't want to hear who kissed who first, she doesn't want to hear about how he wanted her and she wanted him. It’s too much.

“I know you’re angry.”

“Of course I’m angry!” She shrieks it and it bounces off the walls, “You knew I loved him still.” This comes out softer and it sounds weird to hear herself refer to her love for him in the past tense. Because it isn't in past tense, it never will be.

“You  _ love  _ him.” Lola tells her, “This doesn't change that.”

“It changes a lot of things.” 

“He doesn't know about the baby.”

“You don't think he’ll ask questions?” Mary asks it's  _ Francis _ . If Lola is single when she shows up with a baby bump, the man is going to question the paternity, if she’s in a relationship; it gives him room to doubt. He gets deniability from this plan of theirs. Lola is quiet as she picks at the skin of her palm.

“I could go away.” She says after a while, she nods like that’s the perfect plan and Mary is already shaking her head. “Somewhere far away and he’ll never have to know.”

“No.”

“Mary-”

“I’m not sending you away.” She says 

“If you had let me do what I was planning on doing we wouldn't be in this mess.” Lola snaps, frustration finally breaking through the surface.

“If you hadn't slept with Francis we wouldn't be in this mess!” Mary counters and she runs her hands through her tangled hair with a sigh before approaching her friend as calmly as she can, “I am not sending you away, and we both know that terminating the pregnancy was out of the question.” She’s surprised Lola went, that she even made the appointment. 

“I will find a good, kind, man for you, Lola. You just have to give me some time.” She says, “Someone you will eventually love.”

“What if I don't?” Lola asks, “What if I never? Am I to be sentenced to a life of misery because of one mistake?” She asks, the door slams as she leaves.

Lola will come around is what Aylee says later as they all sit around the long table and Lola is long gone.

“Would it be that bad if we just told Francis?” Greer asks after a beat of silence and Mary glares at her.

“Lola won't survive the public scrutiny.” She tells her. “You saw what they did to Diane, to Bash.” She says, it was horrible. Everything they said about her, that she was a whore, homewrecker, that she only kept Bash so she could use him as leverage over Henry. He had to go into hiding. As much as she wishes this baby didn't exist, she won't let that happen to Lola’s child either. 

“So, we’ll keep looking for suitable matches.” Greer sighs heavily, she seems exhausted, annoyed with this plan and Mary sighs too.

_ -/- _

It’s a full week before Lola comes to her senses and shows up at her door. It’s a lot of time to lose and while she wishes she had come sooner, she’s glad she’s here now. She hands her a glass of water as she sips her wine.

“I have terms,” Lola tells her once she’s seated on the couch next to Mary and she nods, she figured as much. 

“Alright.”

“I want a wedding.” She says softly, “A real wedding, not some quicky at a courthouse. A wedding with a dress and flowers and a cake. Vows, even. The whole thing.” She swallows, “He has to get along with my parents, it's bad enough I’ll be blindsiding them with a quick engagement. They can’t hate him too.”

“Mhm.” Mary nods as she takes another drink.

“Are you listening.”

“You want a wedding.” She repeats, she can do that. She can give her that at least. Lola sighs as leans back against the cushions.

“Did you find someone?” The question is soft and Mary feels a tinge of sadness, it's not how this is supposed to happen. Lola should be able to find a guy, she should have the chance to fall in love before walking down the aisle.

This isn't fair. Everything about this feels wrong. But still, Mary leans back.

“Julien Varga.” She says, “He works in real estate. His family immigrated from Hungary when he was five, he’s good, clean. We didn't find much on him that the press can use against him.”

“Much?”

“He went bankrupt a few years ago, a business deal that went sour.” She tells her, “It's a minor thing, nothing to worry about.”

“Does he kn-”

“Yes.”

“And he’s fine-”

“He’s on board.” He didn't argue much when Mary let him know how much she would be willing to pay him. 

“What happens now?” 

_ -/- _

She wonders if it would be easier to just tell Francis, to break open that can of worms and pray he doesn't freak out. It would be but then they’d have the media and Lola’s parents to deal with. They’d disown Lola in a heartbeat if they found out she was having a child out of wedlock.

They look good together, this might work. She thinks as she watches them smile and laugh together in the conference room. They can't hear them through the glass and Mary tries to keep a smile on her face so they don't alarm the couple. 

“They look cute together,” Aylee comments happily. “They seem to be hitting it off.” 

“Yes, until Lola has another meltdown.” Mary smiles.

“Your optimism is blinding me.” Greer says as she stirs her coffee, “I think it’ll work.” It might and with how well they’re hitting it off, she thinks maybe they would have found each other even without the...situation. She can't help but wonder what's going to happen in nine months when the baby comes out looking like Francis. She hopes to God it takes more after Lola, she has no idea what they’ll do if it doesn't.

“We should have found someone who looked like Francis.”

“Or.” Greer speaks up, “We could have told Francis.” She whispers. 

“Lola doesn't want to tell him,” Mary says softly, they have to do what their client wants, and she wants this. 

“He’s going to find out-”

“We’ll deal with it then.”

“It’ll be a softer blow if we just do it now.”

“No one is telling Francis.” Mary snaps it, harsh, straight to the point and kind of mean. Greer looks a little stricken by it but she’s a big girl, she’ll survive. “If Francis is told it will be from Lola’s mouth, not mine, or anyone else's.” She snaps and she shakes her head as she walks away. Even Aylee’s sweet and soft voice isn't enough to bring her back. 

Her office feels too far away and she slams the door when she finally reaches it.

“I thought you weren't supposed to drink on the job.” The voice comes from the corner of the room and she jumps as she pulls the wine bottle out from a drawer. 

“Wear a bell.” She snapped as she pulls on the cork, It’s Louis, she hasn't seen him since she kissed him. Since she kissed him and he disappeared into the night in a cloud of disgust.

“It’s a drinking kind of day.” She tells him without looking up. 

“Is it?”

“You disappeared after I kissed you.” She says and judging by his face he wasn't expecting her to bring it up.

“I didn't.”

“You did.”

“No, I just went where you can't see me.” He tells her with a smirk. 

“Creepy.” She comments as she brings the bottle to her lips. She spins in her chair.

“Mary,” He’s suddenly serious and she catches her foot on the leg of her desk to stop the spinning, the way he’s looking at her, she knows exactly what he wants to talk about.

“No.” She says it quickly, firmly. 

“I-”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Her stomach is lurching, her heart has taken on some sense of urgency as she pleads with him not to make her talk about this. 

“You were drunk and what you told me...I-”

“Stop.”

“Did you report it?” The question, while genuine, it makes her laugh. It tears its way out of her throat.

“What good would that have done?” She asks once the laughter has died down to giggle and she’s looking at him like he’s crazy. She brings her wine back to her mouth and takes a drink. Francis begged her to and she thinks he just wanted to know who did it. Who hurt her, who ground his Mary’s soul to dust. She refused to tell him.   
She refused to tell him because it didn't matter, it didn't matter, they were gone. They were gone and so was she. It would not make her less torn apart.

“Bringing the men who hurt you to justice? What would that have done? You could have had closure, the sense of safety returned to you? So much, Mary.”

“It's too late.” She shrugs, “It's over. There’s no point in talking about it now so drop it.”

“Mary-”

“Drop. It.”

“There are other ways to get justice.” He tells her and there’s something dark in his gaze, in his words and she swallows, she doesn't have to ask what he means by that. She knows that look, she’s seen it on Francis when he begged her to just tell him who hurt her.

She shakes her head and just opts to change the subject.

“I have a thing.” She says quickly, “I have a thing in a few weeks, and it entirely depends on where I am with this whole Lola thing but.” She pauses before she looks at him, offers a smile, “You should come with me.” She says.

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“The correspondents' dinner.” 

“That’s quite the event.” He tilts his head at her, “Wouldn't it look weird if you show up with a random guy on your arm?”

“It would look even weirder if I went alone.” She tells him, “Think of it as part of your job.” She hums, “Keep me away from Francis.”

“I think I can do that.”

“Good.” She smiles. She can't risk running into him and spilling her guts about the whole Lola thing. Plus, she can't handle being in the same room as him, add the large crowd and the cameras, she’ll need Louis to help her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: The Book Theif by Markus Zusak


	5. Tu es l'amour de ma vie

_ “I want to find the missing colors,  _

_ For my life is black and white _

_ Someone crawling my thoughts  _

_ When I try to sleep at night.”  _

_ -Clairel Esteves _

_ -/- _

“You will be compensated,” Mary tells him as she writes a number down on a small piece of paper. It’s enough to never have to work again, enough to give Lola the calm and quiet life she deserves. “I can give you more.” She says as she slides the folded paper across the table, the couple's eyes widen when they see the figures carefully scrolled on the paper. 

“Mary...that’s…” Lola trails off.

“Generous.” Julien finishes for her and they’re quiet. “We’ll get this after the wedding?”

“Half before,” She says, “Half after. At least a month after. Greer will wire it into your bank account, but she can drain it as quickly as she fills it should you get any ideas to run.”

“I won't.” He sounds offended that she would even imply that he would. “I just have one...thing.”

“What?”

“I want to know whose baby I’m pretending is mine.” 

“No,” Lola says it quickly before he can finish the request.

“Then I can't do this.” He says and Mary’s heeled foot collides with his leg when he tries to rise from his chair. He falls back in his chair with a hiss. “Ow.”

“Sit.”

“Is she always this forceful?” Julien asks looking at Lola, she shrugs.

“She doesn't like it when people don't cooperate.”

“My shin can feel that.”

“You need this money.” Mary says loudly to get their attention, “Lola needs a cover. It’s best if you don't know who the father of her baby is, the fewer people who know, the better. From this point on, the baby is yours and that’s all you know. Clear?”

“Fine.”

“Now, let's get onto the fun part.” Greer is sliding a large binder Mary’s way and she opens it with a slam.

“In a few days, you will be seen together, holding hands, a kiss here and there, small things.” She tells them, “You’ll go out to dinner, Julien will be seen giving you flowers, wooing you, whatever. Once the buzz is started, you will propose.” She stops pacing the floor to look at the man still seated next to Lola, “I’m estimating you will be engaged in two weeks from now, a few weeks after you will have a public wedding.”

“You’re sure no one is going to notice?” Lola asks, “This is all kind of fast.”

“Which is why you have to sell it.” Mary says, “Tell me how you met.” They both paused to look at each other and Mary almost provide them with something but Julien speaks after a while.

“We met at Notre Dame Cathedral in France.” He starts softly, “We happened to be in the same place at the same time, I saw her admiring the portrait of Queen Marie Therese.”

“I liked the beading on her gown.” Lola smiles softly.

“And then we caught each other's eye, it was like the world melted away.” He smiles too. Mary’s eyes dart between them and it's like they forgot she’s even in the room. Lola was in france several months ago and Greer can forge something if she has too, but she doubts anyone will dig too deeply into their story, not with the two of them looking at each other like  _ that _ . 

She remembers when Francis used to look at her like that, and her at him. She finds herself wondering if he looked at Lola in that same way too.

She clears her throat loudly to make the two jump back and snapback to reality. 

“Good.” She says softly, swallowing hard, “Run with that.” Her phone is ringing now and she couldn't be happier for the reprieve, the reason to break away from that nauseating display of affection. 

“I was beginning to think you blocked my number.” Her mother says when she answers, she kicks her office door shut. 

“I’ve been busy.”

“Oh I know I saw Narcisse’s speak and what happened to the Attorney General.”

“Why does everyone assume that was my doing?”

“Mary, I met the man, he probably doesn't even know how to spell cocaine let alone snort it.” She says dryly.

“Yeah, probably should have gone with a tamer drug.” She sighs, but she didn't decide on that, Greer was the one who took control of the drug part. 

“I miss you, let's have lunch soon.” 

“Sure.”

“Oh, did you get the present I sent you?” She asks suddenly and Mary makes a face, no packages have been sent to her apartment or her office and that's when she realizes she doesn't mean an It. She means him. 

“The very annoying human being you’ve tasked with following me around?”

“That's the one.” Her mother smiles, “Thought you could use a pick me up.”

“Mom.”

“Yes, dear?”

“I don't need a bodyguard.”

“Who said anything about a bodyguard?” She asks, “No, Louis is...like a shiny new car.”

“Wha-”

“Take him for a spin.”

“ _ Huh _ ?” 

“You’ve been so hung up on Francis, it’s honestly sad.” She hums, “I wanted to help you get over him.”

“Wait.” Mary says quickly, “You’re telling me you didn't send Louis to protect me?”

“That and other things.”

“Dear God.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. If she’s understanding correctly, her mom sent her a new...something. She sent him to woo her. Most moms send their daughters some flowers or something, her mother sent her a whole ass  _ man _ . 

“You don't like my present.”

“No.” She snaps, “I am demanding that you take it back, actually, to wherever you found it.”

“I’m just trying to help you.”

“You know why Francis and I didn't work, what makes you think I’m going to-”

“Yes, what happened to you was unfortunate.”

“That’s all you’re going to say about it?”

“What’s done is done there’s no use in dwelling in it.”

“Wow, I feel so loved right now.” She says softly, “I can't believe you sent a man to seduce  _ and  _ stalk me.”

“I sent you a prized pony, go ride it.” Mary hangs up after that and throws her phone down. 

_ -/- _

She isn't angry about it until she sees him standing guard at her door, smirking at her as he waves and she shoves her keys in the lock with a lot more force than she intends to. No words are exchanged when she pulls him inside and slams the door.

“When were you going to tell me that my mother hired you to seduce me?!” It's a shout, she’s pissed. She’s pissed because it almost  _ worked _ . She has to give him credit, the man must have some background in theatre because he looks genuinely confused by her question. 

“She what?” He asks softly with a tilt of his head, “Just out of curiosity, how am I doing on that front?” She slaps him as hard as she can.

“Does that answer your question.” He recovers quickly, with a shake of his head.

“Okay bad joke, noted.” He sighs after that and then he’s serious, “Look, I didn't know that was her plan. She only told me to watch over you and to keep you safe.” She doesn't say anything, she only paces around her apartment in frustration. He seems genuine, serious, surprised at her accusation. 

It’s almost enough to convince her that he really didn't know and for her anger to subside, to dissipate. 

“I don't want…” she shakes her head.

“I know.”

“I…” She runs her hands through her hair, “I don't have time to date.”

“You  _ did  _ kiss me.” He says it softly and she narrows her eyes at him, pausing in her pacing to glare. She doesn't see what that has to do with anything. 

“I was drunk and heartbroken.” She tells him in a snap, “It hardly meant anything.” She feels a little bad at what that does to his face, he recovers quickly. One thing she has noticed about Louis is he’s good at hiding his emotions, keeping them strictly under the surface, she can never tell what he’s thinking. 

She wonders what happened to him to make him so closed off, what trauma eats away at him. She did that too after she was attacked, she hid her feelings from Francis because she thought that would make it easier to breathe. In the long run, that doesn't make much sense and she thinks the real reason was so she could leave and it wouldn't hurt her as much. 

“I’m just here to make sure you don't get hurt.” He says gently. He’s here to make sure no one beats and bloodies her again and she should be grateful for it, but she’s just angry. “But you should open yourself to love again. With anyone.”

“I love Francis.” She tells him, it's not like she’s telling him something he doesn't already know, it's not a secret. “I will never  _ not  _ be in love with him.” She needs him to understand that, because whatever he thinks is going to happen, isn't. 

“And he loves you?”

“Yes.”

“So much that he slept with someone who was basically your sister and hasn't called you in...what, weeks?”

“He loves me.” It's said in a harsh whisper, how dare Louis imply that Francis doesn't. He is the love of her life and he loves her too. 

“Hm.” He nods, “Then where is he right now?” She doesn't say anything, she just tells him to get out. 

She’s a bottle in when her phone rings.

“What?”

“Bad day?” Francis asks and she straightens.

“I was beginning to think you forgot my number.” She says softly, “Hi.”

“Sorry, I’ve been out of town.” He says softly, “Hi.” She’s a little tipsy at the moment so angry outbursts about Lola don't even come to mind as she leans back on the couch. She just wants to talk to him, hear his voice, just for a little while; before everything goes to hell.

“I missed you.” She says on a breath, “I...sorry, no, I shouldn't say that.” She tilts her glass to her lips with a shake of her head and a hard swallow. 

“Are you okay?”

“No.” She whispers, “Um, I am drinking.” She tells him after a pause, “Francis…”

“Yes?”

“I…” She sighs heavily, “I love you…” She needs to hang up, she’s had a few drinks, she’s not in her right mind and if she keeps talking like this he  _ will  _ show up at her door. She wants to hear it back, she just wants to hear him say it back. 

There’s a pause though, a long one, and it makes her remember where he was a few weeks ago. Whose bed he was occupying, whose skin his own was against, lips on lips. 

“Mary.” Francis says softly, “We...we shouldn't talk like this right now, you’re drunk and I don't want you to say something you’re not-”

“Say it back.” She says softly, so softly it's barely audible and she thinks if she doesn't hear it she might die but he doesn't say anything, he just goes quiet and there’s another long pause. The silence is deafening.

“Get some sleep, okay?” He says instead, “I’ll...call you soon.” The line goes dead and she stares at the blank screen in her hand now. Maybe Louis was right, maybe he doesn't love her anymore. Maybe she left him alone too long and he was tired of waiting and he let her go too. 

Her wine glass hits the floor in a frustrated flick of her wrist after that.

_ -/- _

“Here’s the ring.” She says as she reaches in the glove compartment of her car to hand Julien the tiny black velvet box. There’s a ring inside big enough to sink the Titanic and he runs the pad of his thumb over the stone with a small smile. He met Lola’s parents last week, they adored him and the relationship went public. Lola said her father was basically begging him to put a ring on it.   
She’s sure he didn't mean less than a week later.   
They’re by the Lincoln Memorial, it lights up at night, provides the most stunning view. It’s not that crowded considering the late hour but Mary wanted the photos to be something they can look back on and smile at. Something that’ll catch the eyes of the public. Aylee took care of a photographer and tomorrow morning she’ll send copies of the proposal to every magazine stand in the country.

“The camera is staged over there.” She points, “Make sure to do it there.” She points again. She didn't tell Lola the exact day they’d be doing this, she wanted the girl to have that. Proposals are supposed to be surprising and not everything about this has to be planned to the letter.

“Nervous?” She asks when she unlocks her car and he doesn't move. He looks almost sad as he looks at the ring. 

“It’s just…” 

“Not how this was supposed to be.” She finishes for him. She gets that, she understands it. She’s heard it enough the last few weeks.

“I can see myself marrying Lola.” He tells her honestly, “She’s amazing and I feel like I’ve known her forever, but I’d be lying if I didn't say that this isn't how I wanted this to go.”

“It's good that you see yourself marrying Lola,” She tells him. It’s nice to know that in the short time he’s known her friend he has already formed such a fond bond. She thinks maybe they can make this work and for Lola’s sake, it has to. “Because you’re going to.” She says it like she’s reminding him, telling him if he gets any thoughts on running off; she’ll make him disappear. She has a lot of powerful friends, she can make it look like he never existed at all. 

“Can we go over what I have to do?” He asks and it would be the third time she’s had to do this, but since it’s an odd situation; she can't really say she blames him. Lola is throwing her life away to marry a man she barely knows, all in an effort to spare anyone any more pain. Mary sighs.

“When she meets you, you will guide her to the marked spot. You’ll take her hand, you’ll tell her there’s no one else in the world you would rather spend the rest of your life with and you’ll get down on one knee, you’ll ask her to marry you.” She will accept. It’s simple, straight to the point, she can't say no. 

Julien takes a breath before he puts his hand on the car door handle, he sends one more look Mary’s way, “Wish me luck?”

“Julien-”

“Right. She can't say no.”

“She can't say no.” She repeats softly and he pauses. Turns the box over in his fingers. 

“What if someone finds out it’s all fake?”

“They won't.”

“But-”

“To the general public, to Lola’s family, you have been dating for several months now.” The worst that can happen is someone starts a rumor that Lola was pregnant before their union, but that’s all it’ll be; a rumor. Gossip. It won't matter because to them they were together already, the paternity of the child won't be questioned it’ll simply just mean that Lola’s wedding was a shotgun wedding, and even then it won't be bad. 

“The child's father may think otherwise.”

“He won't be a cause for concern.” She tells him. Francis is smart but she doubts he’ll look into Lola’s pregnancy, she doubts he’ll do the math and to question the baby's’ parentage would mean that he would have to question Lola, he won't do that. “Go, there she is.” Mary points at Lola as she appears on the steps and Julien sighs before he exits Mary’s car. 

The engagement goes off without a hitch, hours later it’s trending on twitter and social media is buzzing with excitement. There are only a few negatives, people questioning why they’re moving so quickly but it's so few comments it hardly worries her. 

The call comes later when she’s sitting in bed and scrolling through twitter. 

“Lola’s getting married?”

“You sound surprised.” She says dryly.

“I...I am.”

“Why?” She asks, “Because you slept with her?” The bite is hardly contained but she doesn't move to fix it and Francis sighs heavily on the other end.

“She told you.”

“She did.”

“I was only the one time-”

“I didn't ask.” She snaps.

“We both regretted it, she was a mess after. I thought it was because of you, but apparently she was in a very serious relationship that she neglected to inform me of.” Ah, right, she forgot how this would look to him.

“He’s forgiven her.” She tells him, “And I…” She was going to say that she has forgiven her too, but has she? The words die in her mouth and she swallows them down.

“Mary, I-”

“No.”

“I just-”

“Don't.” She snaps it harshly, he’s going to apologize, she knows that just from the sound of his voice, the gentleness of his words. She hates that he feels like he has to, they haven't been together in so long. It’s not like he cheated on her. She’s not just angry about Lola, she’s angry about his refusal to say three simple words back to her the other night. 

“You’re angry.”

“Yes.”

“Mary, I didn't do it to hurt you.” He says softly, “It just happened.”

“People keep saying that to me. Is that supposed to make this feel better?” She asks, “Look, you and Lola are two consenting adults, you can do whatever,  _ whoever  _ you want.” She sighs, “We’re not together anymore, things are different now.” Margot was right, everything is changing and changing so quickly. Mary and Francis are done, Lola is pregnant and getting married, there’s a manwhore in the White House, and Francis doesn't love her anymore. She can hear his breath on the other end. There was a time when she couldn't stand to hear it, the simple act of him breathing sent her into an irrational rage. 

Now it just sounds like noise.

“Mary…” 

“I don't want to talk anymore.” She says softly before she ends the call with a soft tap of her thumb. 

_ -/- _

Louis walks into her apartment like he lives there now, so that’s a thing. She hardly notices it anymore, he’s always around and hovering. She hasn't spoken to him much after what he said about Francis, how he implied that Francis doesn't love her, not to the same degree that Mary loves him. 

Loved him. 

She’s scrolling through wedding venues when he comes in. Upon one glance she sees that he’s carrying a few grocery bags and a container of fresh fruit. She doesn't say anything as he walks in the kitchen and starts setting bags down.

“I hope you don't need my help.” She hums as she reads reviews to some frilly, fancy wedding boutique. 

“Nope.” he says, “I’ve noticed a severe lack in nutrition. Your fridge is,” She hears the fridge door open, “Quite literally baron,  _ Mary _ .” He scolds her and she doesn't look over when she feels his scowling eyes on the back of her head. 

“I don't eat much.”

“That’s concerning.” He says, “No wonder you’re as skinny as a rail.”

“Louis.”

“Yes?”

“Why?”

“Why are you as skinny as a rail? Or why am I loading your fridge with food that’s probably just going to spoil?”

“Why are you loading my fridge with food that’s probably just going to spoil?” She asks, “When I told you to make yourself at home I didn't mean literally.”

“Mary, you have to eat.” He tells her seriously, “You cannot honestly believe you can survive on wine and...what, popcorn?” He holds up a jumbo box of buttery sweetness and she shrugs. “And most of this stuff can just go in the microwave for a few minutes and-” he pauses, “Boom, four-course meal.” 

“You’re weird.” She makes a face when he tosses something frozen on the counter and he smirks. She looks at him when his back is turned, thinks maybe she could get used to having him around. It's been a long time since anyone has taken the time to take care of her. And she can't remember the last time she had a fully stocked fridge, it's nice.

“Louis.”

“Huh?”

“Thanks.” She says softly. 

“Anytime.” He says it just as softly. She goes back to what she was doing. Lola doesn't want anything too flashy but it's going to be a lavish affair, big and outdoorsy. She doesn't want it to look too much like a show for the media, she wants it to still be classy. Lola is out right now getting a dress with Greer and Aylee. She thinks Kenna might be there too, but she can't be sure.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“For?” Mary quirks a brow.

“What I said about Francis,” Louis says softly as he comes around the couch and sits next to her. Ah, yes, when he implied that she isn't wanted by Francis anymore. 

“You know why he isn't around.” She tells him without looking up from her laptop, “He’s honoring my wishes.”

“Does your wishes include sleeping with your friends?” He asks and she thinks he’s joking but she still glares.

“It was just the one.”

“One too many.”

“I don't like your tone.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well, stop saying.” she snaps harshly and now she’s standing to grab herself a glass of water. He follows her to the kitchen and she wants to break the glass over his head. “Why you even care?”

“I care about you.” He says it like it’s not supposed to send her into a panic, like it's not supposed to send something straight through her, like she isn't supposed to freak out.

“Don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Do that.” She snaps, “No.” She says like it's supposed to expel his feelings from his body. 

“You kissed me.”

“How many more times are you going to throw that in my face!?” She shouts as she heads back to the couch, she doesn't have time for whatever this is. She has a wedding to plan and only a small window of time to do it in.

“Why did you do it!?” He shouts like he’s been wondering and has just been too afraid to ask her, and she runs her hands through her hair because she doesn't know.

“I was drunk and sad and were nice to me?” She suggests as she sits back down and he sighs, he seems to accept that as an answer. It's not one, but it's enough for now, even if it's not what he was looking for. “Will you still go with me?”

“Of course.” He says softly, of course, because even if he has feelings, whatever they may be, he still has a job to do. “If you admit it's a date.” He seems to be joking, and she rolls her eyes but she nods. She nods because she owes him still for finding Lola, and partly because she stood him up after he did find Lola. 

“You only get one.” She tells him softly, “That’s it.”

“I wasn't expecting you to agree to that.” 

“Don't read too far into it.” She says dryly as she pulls her computer back in her lap.


	6. The Pull

_ “In my dreams, I am kissing your mouth and you’re whispering,  _

_ “Where have you been?” And I say,  _

_ “I’ve been lost but I’m here now. You’re the only person who has ever been able to find me.” _

_ -Sue Zhao _

_ -/- _

Lola doesn't like the pink bridesmaid dresses, she has decided on the red. It delays the process more, with the wedding only being a week away. And still, Mary smiles and she writes down what her friend wants and she gets what she can done. She gets it done because she  _ promised _ Lola a real wedding, even if that means her firm looks like a wedding boutique threw up in it. 

“I like this better.” Lola nods as she runs the deep red fabric through her fingers, “It would look much better on Kenna’s skin tone.”

“Why are we worrying about Kenna’s skin tone?” Mary asks, “Lola-”

“Did you get the _forget me nots_ for the bouquet?” She asks quickly, “My mom wants to throw a bridal shower, I told her I didn't want one but she’s insistent. Oh, and Julien needs another fitting for his tux.”

“I got it.”

“Great.” She smiles a wide smile. Aylee hands her more fabric, whispering encouragements as they look over the final details of the wedding. At least Aylee is having fun, these things should be fun. Mary should be finding joy in helping her friend plan the most important day of her life, but here she sits, listening to a room full of girls giggle about placemats, ready to end it all.

_ If Lola says one more thing about the flowers I swear to god, I will fling mysel-  _ She shakes her head and stands. Maybe her abrupt exit tips someone off but Aylee is following her to her office with a worried frown.

“Mary?” She knocks tentatively as Mary is crouching to dig a mason jar of something strong out of an empty drawer in her filing cabinet. 

“Don't you have...flower stuff to go over or something?” She asks as she slams the jar on her desk and pops the lid. “Or guest seating, dress fittings, cake fondant- champagne.” 

“Mary-”

“Champagne that Lola can't even drink because she’s pregnant.” She mutters as she tilts the jar to her lips and scrunches up her face at the taste. She thinks maybe they didn't think that part through, people might be wondering why Lola isn't drinking at her own wedding. And Mary has another problem to sift through as she sits in her chair with a huff.

“Um.” Aylee fidgets with her fingers and closes the door, “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” Mary says softly as she spins her chair around and around slowly, her jar of happy juice between her hands. 

“Mary.”

“ _ Whhaatttt!? _ ” She whines before she takes another sip, a larger sip. She probably shouldn't be drinking, as she has the stupid correspondents’ dinner later in the evening and this is strong. She can already feel it taking effect, mellowing her out, relaxing the anxiety that’s been festering like a tight knot in her stomach. 

“You’ve been...off?”

“Off?” She stops spinning to quirk a brow at her friend, another sip down the hatch and she finds it doesn't burn as badly now, “Might have something to do with my friend being pregnant with my ex's baby.” She hums, “I hate it.”

“I know…”

“Why did it have to be  _ Lola _ ?” She’s back to spinning. “God, could he not just pick up a prostitute?”

“Um-”

“Like it’s  _ Washington _ , like...you know?” She sighs heavily, stops spinning long enough to take another drink and then she spins again, slower now because her head is fuzzy.

“I don't think...prostitutes...are his uh...type.”

“Why couldn't it be you?” She says softly. Aylee is nice, she’s so nice and smart and pretty and she would be adamant about using protection. Apparently Lola has never heard of a condom before, sex education really failed everyone, didn't it?

“P-pardon?” She’s blushing,  _ oh that’s cute _ . “No...No?”

“Why?” She questions as she takes another drink. “Francis is... _ great _ .” _Okay, Mary stop talking._

“Oh-”

“Honestly,” She says on a sigh, “He did this one thing while we were in the shower and _ohmygoOoOOOod-_ ”

“Okay, I’m gonna...I’m-” She’s moving towards the door but Mary stops her. 

“No.” She says loudly, “Don't go.” She says that more softly, sadly, as she completely halts in her chair and it's quiet now. It’s so quiet she thinks she can hear her own heartbreaking, but she shakes her head and swallows hard. Aylee doesn't say anything as she closes the blinds and sits in a leather chair by Mary’s desk. 

“I really miss him.” Mary says softly, “Isn't that stupid?”

“No.”

“I used to think that I could turn it off, live the rest of my life comfortably living a lie. Denying that I miss him. I can't turn it off but I can't be with him because I think about…” She doesn't have to elaborate, everyone knows what happened to her. Here. Just a few feet from where she’s sitting. “And now Lola’s having his baby and I have to figure out how I’m going to hide this from him.” He’ll be there tonight, at the correspondents’ dinner and she has to keep herself from telling him somehow. 

Aylee stays quiet, she’s always been a good listener. She never interjects until a thought has been completed and that’s what she’s doing now, she’s sitting with her hands in her lap and she listens. 

“Now, every time I see Lola I think about them together and it’s a lot. You know, I wanted to let her terminate her pregnancy, the selfish part of myself wanted her to not have this kid.”

“That’s understandable.”

“It isn't.” She says softly, “The child isn't even born yet and I hate it. Who does that? What kind of person...hates a baby for no reason other than he happens to exist.” She’s beginning to see why Catherine never grew to love Bash, she never accepted him. He was a constant reminder of Henry’s infidelity and this child would be a constant reminder of Francis and Lola’s night of passion. She wants to be a bigger person, to be able to not let this get to her, but at night she imagines Francis and his lips and his hands and they’re on someone that isn't  _ her _ and it burns. 

_ -/- _

She’s shoving an earring through her earlobe when she hears the door open and close. They’re cutting it close in terms of being late and she blames herself, she took a nap, slightly drunk and woke up with only an hour to get ready. 

She throws her heels on, connecting the straps, fixing her hair and her lipstick and then she’s walking out. She’s wearing the red dress, Kenna was right, the blue is pretty but the red is better. 

“We’re gonna be late.” She tells him as she walks out and shoves her phone in her purse. He isn't saying anything and upon further inspection, she finds that he’s staring at her. “What?” She asks with a quirk of her brow, self-conscious as she checks her dress, “Is there something-”   
“No.” Louis says quickly, “You look…” He trails off and she’s thankful for the dim lights in her apartment because the way he’s looking at her right now, the twinkle of his eyes, the soft adoration of his features, damn near has her blushing. She smiles a small smile. 

“You too…” She says softly and then she shifts awkwardly when they both fall silent. 

“Oh.” Louis says quickly, seemingly recovered from whatever came over him and then he’s holding up a small gift bag, “For you.” She gives him a questioning look before taking it and she pulls lightly on the tissue paper. 

“What…” She pulls out a box, opening it to find something sparkling and expensive. “Louis…” She breathes, it’s a silver bracelet with red rubies and they glint in the little light there is. She removes it from its box, running the box chain through her fingers, thumbing the red stones lightly as she admires it. “You didn't have t-”

“I wanted to.” He tells her as he takes it from her fingers, “Here.” She holds out her wrist and he steps a little closer to wrap it around her. After that, she clears her throat and stepped back a few paces. As much as she likes it, she does feel it's too much and she feels the need to add some space between them.

“Remember your job tonight.”

“Yes.” He says, the moment is gone and he’s serious now, “Keep you away from the pretty blonde.”

“How kind of you to acknowledge that he’s pretty.”

“That’s all he gets from me,” Louis says as he holds the door for her and they exit her apartment. 

Henry hasn't picked a new Attorney General of the United States. It’s been weeks now since the arrest of the last one. She thinks he’ll announce it tonight, it’s a good place to do that, as it’s crawling with reporters and journalists and cameras. 

“Are you alright?” Louis asks softly when they’re finally seated. She’s uneasy and a little shaky but she tacks on a small smile and reassures him that she’s fine. There’s a lot of people in long gowns and tuxedos, and there’s so much noise and she thinks every clink of a glass against another, or the scrape of a fork against a plate is enough to undo her. She swallows her fears and looks up at the stage and there he is. He’s sitting at the long table and he’s leaning over to tell Charles something and he’s smile. 

Francis is smiling in a way that makes his dimples show as he laughs with his brother and she wants the noise to stop so she can hear it but she  _ can't _ . 

“Take a picture it’ll last longer.” Louis jokes as he snaps his fingers next to her ear and she snaps out of it long enough to glare at him. “You asked me to keep you away from him, I’m assuming that includes  _ not  _ letting you stare like a lunatic.”

“Says the guy who stalks me for a living.” She mutters as she grabs her glass of champagne. He’s right if Francis catches her staring at him, he might seek her out and she doesn't have the energy to run from him. 

Not in these shoes.

So, she sits and she just watches the podium as comedians take cuts to the Presidents. Most of their jokes circle around Henry’s inability to keep it in his pants, much to the dismay of his  _ wife _ . Henry takes it in stride though, and even makes his own, you gotta give him credit. Most men don't own their extramarital affairs. She feels bad for his children, Claude looks bored out of her mind as she picks at the table cloth, maybe a little hungover too. 

“On a more serious note,” Henry says after poking fun at Catherines' less than warm nature. Here it is. “I’m sure a lot of you have been wondering who the new Attorney General of the United States will be, after the last ones... _ unfortunate _ arrest. All the candidates have been extensively vetter and I am happy to announce that the man chosen for the job is here tonight. Mr. Oliver Severin.”

Her head pops up at the name and she feels her body close in on itself when she sees him take the stage. He shakes Henry’s hand and all she can think is that was the hand he had around her throat. The clapping and cheering around her mask the screaming and breaking glass she hears in her head. She can’t breathe, she can’t think. He’s here. He’s standing with the President, does he remember her? Does he remember what he did to her?

“Mary.” Louis sounds concerned now, “Hey.” He says gently. She feels his fingers find hers under the table but she just pulls them away, he can't touch her. He cannot touch her right now. She has to go, she has to get out. 

She cannot go, she cannot get out. So she sits and she shakes.

She sits and shakes and watches him shake hands with everyone on stage. She wonders what Francis would think if she told him that he just shook hands with a  _ monster _ . If she told him who the man that’s hugging his little sister, who is pressing a gentle kiss to the first lady's hand. 

She thinks her ears may never stop ringing. 

_ -/- _

She lost Louis somewhere when she found a light, a minute she could slip away discreetly before anyone notices. Before she can be pulled into a conversation by someone because she can't stop it now, she feels it rising in the back of her throat as her stomach twists and turns. 

She’s hunched over a toilet a moment later, spewing the little bit of food she ate, out of her stomach. She can't stop shaking and somewhere along the way, she got it on her dress. She’s sweating and shaking and crying and she can't stop puking. She’s puking like it’s the only thing that’s expelling the trauma from her body. All she can think about his hands and his breath and how his body felt when it was over her like a weight. The pain when he…

“I can go to the bathroom by myself.” Is said on a bite, a snap, something harsh and she looks long enough to hear the door close to see Catherine lifting the light blue skirt of her dress and walking over to Mary’s stall. It’s eased open as she pukes again. 

“Oh my…” Catherine's voice is soft, “My dear are you alright?” She asks softly and she shakes her head. 

“I had to get out.” She tells her in a shaking voice, something that sounds like her but isn't. “I’m sorry.” She doesn't know what for, but she’s crying and it seems like she should apologize. 

“You’re shaking.”

“Too many people.”

“Is that it?” She asks like she doesn't believe her, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She hasn't, she’s seen a monster, the devil himself, but she supposes that’s the same thing. She stands slowly, let's Catherine pull her out of the stall. She’s wetting a napkin with warm water and dabbing at her mouth. She got it on her dress, her pretty, expensive, limited edition dress. Vomit splatters down it and Catherine dabs gently at that too. 

“Catherine.” She chokes, “He’s here.”

“Who’s here?” She asks softly, tilts her head at her. “What is it?”

“The man who…” She swallows, “Hurt me, he’s here…” 

“Oh.” Her voice is soft as she rubs her arms affectionately, “Mary-”

“Don't ask me who it is.” She whispers, she doesn't want to know, the man was touching her children. She doesn't want to know. Henry probably wouldn't do anything about it if he knew. 

“Are...are you alright?” She asks in a whisper and she isn't but she nods, she wants to go home. She’s covered in her own trauma and she wants to go home. “Go home. Get some rest.” She says softly and the  _ talk later  _ is implied before she leaves.

Mary spends too long trying to calm herself down, she has to go back in there looking like this to find Louis, god the headlines tomorrow are going to be interesting. She splashes some water over her face before exiting with a hard swallow and heading down the empty hall to the event room. The hall feels long or maybe she’s just walking too slowly.

“Mary.” The voice that reaches her ears makes her halt and she turns slowly to find Francis is there. He’s right there and he’s looking at her. He’s a respectable distance away, and yet not close enough. Everything in her body is telling her to go to him, but she can't do that. She can't. He looks worried and she realizes how awful she must look right now. She’s sweaty, dark strands of her hair have come loose from the bun she had her hair in and she’s paler now, shaking, there’s vomit on her dress and she can't breathe. 

He takes a step.

“Mary,” It’s Louis now and she looks back at him. He looks worried too but also a little bitter and she wonders why, is it because Francis is here too.  _ Francis _ , she looks at him again and now he’s looking at Louis and the concern is mixed with confusion as his eyes find hers again. 

If this were a cartoon she would split herself in two right now. Louis calls for her again and she swallows before giving Francis one more look and then turning around to go to Louis.

“Take me home.” She says softly, hurriedly as he rests his hand on the small of her back to push her forward. “Out the back.” She tells him, no cameras that way. She can't be caught looking like this. She doesn't look back to see Francis as Louis guides her away. Even if she longs to.

She realizes that she doesn't let go of his hand the whole way back to her apartment, up the elevator, through the door and when they just stand there in the dark and he flicks on a few lights. He stands there as he loosens his fingers but hers tighten around them again. She doesn't want to let go yet, she doesn't want to, not yet. 

“Um.” He says softly, “Let's get you cleaned up.” And then he’s guiding her to the bathroom and flicking on the light. She doesn't say anything as he uses a warm washcloth to scrub the mascara lines that run down her face as gently as he could. 

“Did he look mad?” She asks softly, “Francis.”

“He looked worried.” He tells her, “Which, with the state that you were in, I don't blame him.” She meant after she walked away from him, after she reached for another man; after she picked to leave with Louis instead of going to him. She doesn't voice that part.

“Mary.” Louis says softly as he sets the washcloth down a little harder than he intended, “Question.”

“Okay.” She nods slowly.

“The new Attorney General.” He starts, “The way that you were looking at him...is he the-”

“Yes.” 

“Okay.” He breathes, “Okay. That’s all I need to know.”

“You can’t do anything.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it.”

“Scouts honor.” He says softly, “You need a shower.” He tells her, “I’ll be out here the whole time.” She nods and he exits the bathroom and she locks the door behind him. 

_ -/- _

**Francis:** _ “Are you okay?” _ Is the text that waits for her when she steps out of the shower. She stares at it. If she’s honest and she says no, he’ll come get her. But if she lies and says yes, he’ll probably know that she’s lying to him. He saw her, he was worried. 

**Mary:** _ “I’m fine, promise.”  _ She sends and then she turns her phone off, leaving it on the counter before exiting the room. She’s surprised to find that Louis is still here and she pulls on the oversized shirt she has to somehow make it longer. She’s wearing shorts too, but her legs still feel too bare and she pulls a blanket in her lap to help cover her before she sits.

He gives her a small smile.

“Feel better?” He asks as he hands her a cup of something warm, she nods. 

“Thanks.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately.”

“You’ve been doing too much.” She tells him softly as she sets the cup on her coffee table. 

“You’re welcome.” He bumps her with his shoulder, “Happy to help.” She laughs softly as she finds the bracelet that still hangs on her wrist. She forgot to take it off and she thinks she never wants to. She thumbs the hard stones as she looks down at it.

“I can't remember the last time someone bought me jewelry.” Francis did before, he did often, even though she told him he didn't need to. He just wanted to. “I’m sorry I keep...messing up our dates.” 

“You’re not messing anything up.”

“Did you not see the vomit on my dress?”

“It's not your fault.” He tells her, genuinely, and she shrugs. If she had known she was going to see Severin today, she would have locked herself away and thrown away the key. Thinking about it now, it feels as though his fingers are still closing around her throat. “Mary.”

“I thought that...I was okay.” She says, “But it feels like that night all over again.”

“You’re safe.”

“I know.” She looks at him now, “I feel safe with you.” She means that; she really does. He’s become a good friend. He’s so sweet and he takes care of her and she knows that he wouldn't hurt her. “No.” She says quickly when he leans in slowly, attempting to connect their lips and she jumps up as quickly as she can.

“Oh, I-”

“No.” She steps back when he rises, “ _No_.” She says it again as she leaves him there, slamming her bedroom door shut and twisting the lock in place.


	7. The Poor Grooms' Bride Is A...

_ “To deny love and deceive it by pretending that love sublimated reaches highest to heavenly love, is repulsive, as the hypocrite’s face is repulsive when placed too near the truth. _ _   
_ _ Father off from the center of the world, of all worlds, I might be better fooled. _ _   
_ _ But can I see the light of a match, _ _   
_ _ While burning in the arms of the sun?” _

_ -/- _

The ceremony will be an outside ceremony and the reception will be inside. Mary is overseeing the decorating today as she walks around and checks things off her list. Her phone is buzzing in her pocket but she ignores it as she questions someone about the late shipment of some wedding plates Lola’s mother had sent over.    
The wedding is tomorrow, it’s tomorrow and then Lola will be married and everything will be fine. This will be over and they can start to put it behind them. 

“What?” She asks when she gets fed up with the buzzing and just answers her phone. 

“I was calling to see how you are,” Catherine says and Mary makes a face, she’s not using a protected phone.

“Are...are you using a burner phone?”

“I didn't want anyone to hear our conversation.” She tells her and Mary knows now what they’re going to talk about. 

“I’m fine.” She tells her softly, the Correspondents’ dinner was a week ago and she’s mostly forgotten about it. Aside from the resurgence of nightmares, she had for months after, but during the day, she’s mostly fine. She’s too busy to think about it and for that she’s grateful.

“Francis saw you.” She says, “He was worried.” Right. She hasn't forgotten about that part and she thinks about what would have happened if she had told him, often. She didn't tell him, she’s glad she didn't. 

Mary doesn't say anything as she walks around the wedding venue. 

“Don't worry, I didn't tell him why you were so upset. The real reason, at least, I just told him that...you were overwhelmed with the number of people and all the noise. He seemed to understand, he seemed to believe me, I can't be sure.”

“I’m not telling him.”

“I didn't say you had to.”

“No, but you want me to.”

“It’s completely up to you.”

“I won't let him kill for me.” She says softly, not after everything. Francis is too good, he’s too kind to have that blood on his hands. She knows that’s what he would do, she knows that he would kill him. The only thing that can bring her any amount of closure would be Severin ending up in a body bag. And if he thought for a second that doing it for her would bring her back to him. Well, there’d be no stopping him.

So, he can't know. 

Catherine is quiet and she doesn't even bother denying that Francis would do that, that her son would never go that far, but she saw his face when Mary woke up. There was no denying what he intended to do the moment he got a name.

“I understand.” Catherine says after a long pause, “Believe me. I get it.” She breathes and Mary doesn't ask what she means by that, she merely shakes her head. 

“I have a wedding to plan.” She tells her after a steadying breath, “Talk soon.” She hangs up the phone after that and turns it off before looking down at her list to continue doing her job.

_ -/- _

She wants to understand, she does, but as she walks into the bridal suite, all she can feel is anger. Lola sits with her arms in her lap, her robe still on despite the fact that the wedding is starting in half an hour. Everyone is already seated and Mary cannot do this right now. 

“Lola.”

“I can't…” She shakes her head, “I can't do this, Mary.” Mary paces and tries to take a few breaths. She needs to come at this with a calm approach even though her blood boils under her skin. She wants to smack her as hard as she can, shake her a bit, kick her down the freaking aisle if she has to. She can't do that. So, she tries another approach.

Compassion and understanding.

“Lola.” She says calmly, “Get it together.” That’s a snap and option two goes out the window. She shakes her head as she swallows the bitter taste in her mouth. “Sorry. That was...uncalled for.”

“I-”

“I worked very hard to make this happen today.” She says softly, “Do you know how hard it was to find a place that would have a cake ready by  _ today _ ?”

“Oh, I’m sorry is this difficult for you?” Lola asks her bitterly, “Are you marrying a man you barely know? Are you lying to everyone that you love?”

“Lola-”

“I slept with Francis, I know.” She snaps, “You can be angry, you can yell at me all you want but do not tell me how hard this is for  _ you _ .” She shakes her head as she paces and Mary doesn't say anything, she just straightens and lets Lola get it all out. “I was so afraid to tell you he was the father of my baby because I didn't know what it would do to  _ you _ . I’m marrying a man I barely know so that Francis never has to find out for  _ you _ because I know it’ll kill  _ you  _ to watch him raise a child with anyone other than  _ you _ .”

“Are you done?” Mary asks softly and when Lola doesn't say anything, she sighs. “If you want Francis to know then, by all means, tell him.” She says it slowly, softly, just a few notches above a whisper. Lola shakes her head as she flops down in her chair. Francis deserves to know, he is going to be a father and he has no idea and with their plan, he may never know. It’s cruel. Francis wants kids and they are actively keeping one away from him.

“And then what?” She asks, “This gets out? This whole...sham. What, I walk out of my very public wedding, ditch Julien at the altar and tell another man that I am having his baby. There’s no coming out of that.” It’s true, Mary doesn't even know how she would fix that, but she’d find a way, she always does. 

“Lola.” She says her name gently as the girl puts her head in her hands. She walks over, “Whatever you want to do.” She tells her. “I am with you.”

“I want a time machine.” She cries softly, “I want this to not be happening.” Mary does too but she bites her tongue and just plucks a few tissues from the box and hands them over. 

“I’ll have Kenna come fix your makeup, put the dress on.” She says slowly and then she’s leaving the room to take her seat.

“Lola okay?” Louis questions when she sits next to him. 

“I don't know.” She tells him. She doesn't know what’s going to happen now, she doesn't know if Lola will come out and get married, or if there will be pictures of her in her wedding dress getting in a taxi all over social media later. 

Julien is already standing up at the front, ready for his bride to come and meet him. She thinks he better love her. If he doesn't, Mary might actually have to kill him. The seconds feel like hours as they tick by and Lola still hasn't emerged, she bites the inside of her cheek. She’s ready to get up, to go get her herself because even though she said she could tell Francis, the thought of her doing it is killing her. She’s about to move when the door opens and the music starts.

She breathes easier when Lola comes out in her dress, smiling, as her father walks her up the aisle.

_ -/- _

The reception is inside a large ballroom and people are laughing, and eating, and dancing. It’s noisy and she grabs a glass of champagne off a tray as a caterer walks by. 

“Didn't know weddings were your forte,” Louis comments as he watches the happy couple on the dance floor. 

“I have many talents.” She mutters. 

“Lola looks happy.” He says with a smirk, “Do you feel better? Now that the crisis has been averted.” 

“Please stop talking.” She says softly as she sips her drink, it settles uncomfortably in her stomach and she can't remember if she’s had anything to eat today. It’s a few moments of silence as they watch Lola dance with her new husband and then he turns to her.

“So.” He’s taking her drink, “When are you going to kick off those shoes and dance with me?” He asks, she can't tell if he’s joking, but maybe that’s because he isn't. 

“When Hell freezes over.” She says.

“Oh, come on.”

“One.” She says, “That’s it.” She allows him to set her drink somewhere and pull her with him to the dance floor. The music slows, to her horror, to a pretty piano instrumental of Donna Lewis’  _ I love you always, forever. _ And Mary thinks it sounds too depressing to be a wedding song, but she didn't pick the music. “Watch your hands, I have very pointy shoes.” She warns when he reaches, it makes him smirk as he puts his hand high up on her waist and holds the other.

“Please.” He sighs, he rolls his eyes dramatically at that and she finds herself laughing a little. 

“You don't strike me as the dancing type.”

“You don't strike me as the wedding planner type.” He counters, “How am I doing?”

“Well, you haven't stepped on my feet yet, so.” She shrugs, squeaks when he spins her, but laughs when she faces him again. And just like that, it comes crashing down. She freezes when she sees over his shoulder.

What the hell is he doing here? He’s talking to Aylee, they’re smiling about something but he must feel her looking because he turns his head and he sees her too.

And Francis doesn't smile anymore. 

She thanks every god there is and ever was when the song ends and she turns quickly to applaud the band. She can't describe his face, it was one thing to watch her leave the other night with Louis, but another entirely to be in his arms; laughing. 

When she looks back, he’s gone.

She mutters something about needing the restroom and she leaves Louis there and when she comes back, she can't find him.

Until she does find him and to her unadulterated horror, she finds him with Francis. They’re just talking it seems, but she can't tell if it's friendly. She grabs Aylee as she walks by.

“What are they doing?” She doesn't mean to snap at Aylee, Lord knows the girl is the least deserving of it, but she snap she does. 

“Looks like they’re just having a chat.” She says when she follows Mary’s eyes.

“I saw you talking to Francis.”

“I...do that sometimes….”

“What were you talking about?” She asks and when she doesn't answer, her hand tightens around her arm. 

“He wanted to know who was dancing with you.” She says quickly, “I told him he was just a friend of yours, nothing more.” Nothing more would imply that he thought that there was something more. “Mary, he...was just worried.” She says gently, “You should talk to him.” That’s the last thing she says before she walks away.

_ -/- _

Kenna pulls her away from Louis a while later, as the sun starts to go down and people are starting to go home. She wants to talk to her about something important and she looks slightly panicked as she leads her away from the crowd. 

They go into a room, she pushes her inside and then the door is closed to a frantic, “He made me.” Falling from Kenna’s mouth. Mary makes a face as she knocks, twists the knob to find that the door has been locked.    
“Kenna this isn't funny.” She hisses through the door, “Open-”

“She’s only doing what I asked her to,” Francis says it from the other side of the room as he fills a glass with something. Mary spins on her heels. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Lola invited me?” He quirks a brow, “I was surprised by it too, but she’s a friend so.” He shrugs. She steps back until her body hits the door, “It’s alright, Mary, I...I’ll stay right here.” He sounds sad as he says it, doesn't meet her eyes and she swallows hard as she tries to calm herself down. 

“Let me out.”

“No.”

“Francis.”

“I want to talk to you.” He sounds stupidly calm, as though Mary isn't collapsing in front of him. He has resorted to locking her in rooms with him, it makes her sad that that is the only way she can be alone with him. She keeps herself pressed to the door, she can't breathe. 

“I don't want to be in here.” She says it slowly, softly before she turns around and desperately jiggles the doorknob.

“Leith locked it.”

“Let me out.” She pleads, she doesn't turn back around, she can't. She can't look at him.

“Worried your boyfriend will miss you too much.” It's not exactly said on a snap, he isn't biting her head off or anything, but his voice is cold and bitter and she turns sharply. 

“He’s not my-” She stops, “Is  _ that  _ what this is about?” She spats it and then she laughs because this is absurd. “Wow, Francis, this low.” 

“Mary-”

“He’s my friend.” She tells him, “Nothing more. Not that you have to know that, not that it’s any of your business.” She’s angry now, who gave him the right? 

“I can't even stand too close to you, and he gets to hold you.”

“You’re jealous.” She tries not to laugh at that, she tries to understand. She’s jealous about Lola, he’s jealous about Louis, the universe laughs maniacally. He’s a hypocrite and she wants to shout it at him but she doesn't, she just breathes. 

“I’m confused.”

“Confused.” She breathes that. “I’m not sleeping with him if  _ that's  _ what you want to know.” Something flashes on his face just then and she straightens, he looked relieved to hear her say that. “Is that what you’re angry about, is that why you’re doing this? What you get to sleep with my friends and I can't date?”

“Mary-”

“Am I just supposed to sit around like a ruined little doll? Is...is that what you want? They took me so that means no one else can have me? Is that it?” 

“Stop.” He says it softly, on a breath as he looks away from her.

“No. You’re a hypocrite.” She finally says it and that gets something out of him, he looks at her then and it’s different.

“You told me that you couldn't be around any men after what happened to you.” He snapped, “I understood that, I got it. So I let you go, even though it killed me. And then I see you with...him and I can't…” He runs a hand over his face as he sighs, “You left with him the other night, you turned away from me and you left with him and then...he had you in his arms and I just don't understand, if you were better if you were okay. Why didn't you…” He trails off and she sees it sink into him and she wishes it didn't, she wishes he could remain unaware of it.

“Francis…”

“It’s me.” He says it softly, “You couldn't be around me.” She doesn't say anything as she picks at her palm, she doesn't look at him, she can't. “Mary…”

“It’s not fair, I know.” She shrugs.

“No, it isn't.”

“I-”

“You don't get to tell me who I can and cannot be with, Francis.” She says softly, “Not after what you did with Lola.” She shrugs, “I’m sorry, I hated you for not getting there in time to stop those men. I didn't want to, I fought it, and now here we are.”

“Mary-”

“I can I go now?” She asks, “I don't want to be in here.” She whispers that and the  _ with you _ is implied. And after he gives the okay, she hears the lock twist and she leaves him. She’s angry and she can't breathe, she just wants to go home and forget about tonight. 

How dare he be angry with her for finding comfort with Louis? How dare he assume that she’s sleeping with him? How dare be angry after he slept with Lola. The more she thinks about it, the angrier she becomes and Louis walks her to her apartment. 

“You want to tell me what happened?” He asks as he stands at the door. She shakes her head and he clicks his tongue against his teeth, “Well, I for one ha-” She pulls him into her apartment, pulling his mouth to hers as she backs him against the door. He stops trying to protest when she unzips her dress and it meets the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Clears throat* I'MSORRYI'MSORRYI'MSORRY
> 
> Quote by Elizabeth Smart "At Grand Central Station I wept"


	8. Thanks For The Chicken

_ “You miss his touch, _ _   
_ _ The way that his hands held you, _ _   
_ _ The way his lips became one with yours, _ _   
_ _ The way the lust swelled in his eyes when he looked at you. _ _   
_ _ But do you miss the way those lies tasted?” _

_ -/- _

“Get out.” She tells him as she swings her legs over the edge of her bed and pulls on her robe with shaking fingers, “Now.” Louis is moving, not fast enough and she forces a glass of water down her dry throat before turning on him to find he’s mostly dressed but his brows are knotted in confusion but also worry. 

“Mary-”

“No.” She says it quickly when he attempts to walk around the bed and over to her but she just holds the delicate fabric of her robe closed between the anchors of her fingers and steps back. 

“I-”

“I said get out!” The sound that comes out is a shriek, and it sounds like her but not really, before she knows it she’s sent the glass in her hand hurling at the wall and it shatters. He dodges it because of course, he does. 

“Okay!” He says quickly as he quickly finishes with the buttons of his shirt, “I’m going, I’m going.” He’s speaking gently as he rounds the bed and heads for the door but he keeps looking at her like he’s worried and she hates him. 

She feels like she doesn't breathe until she hears the door close. 

She pulls the fabric down when she gets in the bathroom and blinks back the tears that prickle at the corners of her eyes when she sees the marks. A few lie on the ridges of her collarbone, down by her breasts and she hates that she let him do that to her. She thumbs at it and wonders what other marks she let him nip and suck and-

“What did I do?” She asks softly and the tears are falling now as she grips the counter and tries to remember how to breathe. “What did I do, what did I do?”  _ You did Louis, idiot _ . Her mind whispers and she sinks to the floor to cry this out. Maybe the shame will go away, maybe the shame will leave her body with her tears. 

It isn't, if anything the more she wakes up, the more the grogginess leaves her, the worse this becomes. Now, it’s undeniable, she can't say this is just a weird dream. She really went that far with him and for no other reason than because she was angry that Francis felt like he had the right to police her body. Because he felt relieved when she told him she wasn't sleeping with Louis, it’s not like Louis was his best friend and she is now having his child. He doesn't even know him. But he was relieved to know that she hadn't given herself to anyone else, not since she left him, he was pleased to know that he was still the only person she had given herself to. 

In the consensual sense.

And now she has given herself to another person and it was stupid, it was childish. And it was so  _ easy _ . She hates that it was easy, she hates that she was able to do it without a second thought. She hates that having his body over hers, pressing into her, his hands and his lips, didn't bother her. She didn't think about what happened to her at all, at any point, she didn't feel scared, she didn't feel panic, she didn't feel like she was being choked. She didn't feel all the feelings she usually felt when she looked at Francis. 

How disgusting is that?

Mary composes herself enough to pull herself off the floor and then, once she knows that she is truly alone, she gets in the shower to attempt to wash his hands off her.

_ -/- _

Nothing happened today, in terms of work. After the whole thing with Lola, she has decided to take a much-needed break. So, she really just stayed home and thumbed through Lola’s social media to see how her honeymoon is going. She looks happy, like, really happy and that makes Mary happy because, after all this shit, she deserves it. 

She gets a call at two in the morning. A frantic one from Charles and she supposes breaks are overrated. 

He’s whispering and breathing heavy, he sounds like he’s on the verge of a panic attack and she sits up in bed as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. 

“Charles, what’s wrong?” She asks slowly. 

“I need help.”

“Um...okay?”

“Can you come?” He asks and she looks at the clock, it’s late but her heart is breaking at how little he sounds, like the little boy she used to toss a ball around with so many years ago and she nods.

“Where are you?”

“I’ll send someone.” He whispers, “Thanks.” The line goes dead and as she’s getting dressed, the door to her apartment is opened by someone large and broad-shouldered, stone-faced. He takes her to a hotel, down an empty hall, to a door that’s being guarded by two men. She wonders what Charles is doing here, but she remembers that he is a sixteen-year-old boy and she doesn't ask anymore. 

“Mary.” He breathes when the door is opened and she strolls in.

“Pants.” She says quickly as she spins around to look at the wall and not at the boy, who stands before her in his underwear. 

“Oh. Sorry.” She has no idea if he is blushing but she hears him pull on his jeans a few seconds later and she turns back around as he tugs on a shirt. Charles is sixteen, lanky, dark hair. He has ice blue eyes that remind her of Francis and he looks just like Henry when he was that age. Usually, he wears a cocky grin or a smirk, someone who knows he’s charming enough to get whatever he wants, but now. Today he just looks like a scared kid and she doesn't have to ask why when she sees the figure on the bed.

“Good god, Charles?!” She scolds. It’s a girl, probably only a year younger than he is. She’s lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, lips blue and her shirt is open to reveal the lace bra underneath. Mary walks around the bed and presses to fingers to her neck, she still has a pulse, but it’s thready. 

“I met her at the dinner thing.” He’s explaining. “And she wanted to hang out.”

“Oh dear god-”

“And I took that as...well...you know.”

“No, no I don't.” She says softly, “Okay so you got a room.”

“We were talking.”

“Talking.” They most certainly were not.

“Well, we were mostly-”

“Stop,” Mary says quickly, shaking her head to get any and all mental images of what they were doing out of her brain. He’s still eight to her and this is weird enough. 

“We were drinking and then she just...fell.” He’s frantic again, “I didn't know what to do so I called you.”

“Okay.” She shakes her head. They can't call an ambulance, not with Charles here. The media would have a field day with the President's child being caught in a trashy hotel with a half-dead girl and she needs to know what she took before that anyways. “What did she take?”

“Nothing.”

“Charles girls don't fall over and turn blue without taking something.” She snaps, but he’s insistent that if she had put something in her drink, he didn't know. She sighs as she pulls out her phone, keeping her hand pressed to the girls' pulse. 

“Her name is Constance.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“She’s the daughter of a congressman, Charles, you really should do background checks before meeting random girls in hotels.” 

Greer gets there as quickly as she can with Aylee in tow. 

“It’s opium.” She says with one sniff of the cup, “Very easy to overdose on.” She tells him. 

“Oh my god,” Charles says softly, he looks like he’s about to be sick but he just sits on a chair with his head in his hands. “My mom is going to kill me.” 

“Charles, grab your stuff.” Mary says as she pulls him up, “Everything.”

“Why-”

“Because you were never here.” She says slowly, “You’ve never met this girl.”

“What if she talks when she wakes up.” Mary grabs his shoulders to force him to look at her as she says it.

“She isn't going to wake up.” She says that slowly, softly. She felt the girls' pulse weaken until it stopped and that was ten minutes ago. 

“This wasn't supposed to happen.” He shakes his head, his eyes filled with tears and Mary thinks she has never seen him cry before, but they don't have time for that. Greer is pulling her hair back, pulling latex gloves on. She yanks the curtains shut, she’s pulling the girls' phone out of her pocket. 

Aylee has already left to take care of surveillance footage and witnesses. Every trace of Charles being in this room or this building will be gone by morning. It will just look like the girl overdosed on her own and she’ll be found the next morning by a maid.

“Do you guys do this often?” Charles asks while he watches Greer wipe down tables and chairs.

“You have no idea.” Mary mutters.

_ -/- _

It doesn't hit him until they reach Mary’s apartment, she doesn't know exactly why she brought him here, but she didn't want to go all the way to the White House and leaving him alone didn't seem like a good idea. 

He’s a mess on her couch as she stands awkwardly to the side. 

“What did I do, Mary, what did I do?” He asks as he holds his head in his hands and she seems to remember asking herself that same question earlier this morning. She pats his shoulder soothingly as she sits next to him.

“You made a mistake.” She says softly, “But she brought the drugs, Charles, you didn't even know she had them.”

“I should...have known. I mean...she was acting weird towards the end but she just kept drinking and I thought it was because of the beer.” He shakes his head, “I should have realized that she was high.”

“Charles…”

“What am I going to tell my mom?”

“Nothing,” Mary says softly, because as soon as her team is finished; it’ll be as though Charles was never in the building or within close proximity to Constance so there would be no use in telling Catherine what happened. Because nothing happened. “I need to take you home.”

“I don't want to go home.”

“Charles-”   
“Can you call Francis?” He asks softly and the question makes her straighten, makes her stomach tighten and she scratches behind her ear awkwardly.

“Um-”

“Please?” Oh, she can't say no, not to him. Not when he looks like that little boy she used to chase around and walk to school so long ago. She sighs heavily.

“Okay…”

Francis is on the way five minutes later and she paces as they wait. He sounded angry, but she supposes if someone called her in the middle of the night because they found a half dead girl in her brothers' bed, she’d be angry too. 

She doesn't expect him to knock on her door so hard he probably put a dent in it. 

“Hi.” He says and she steps back to let him in, keeps her distance since their last meeting was less than pleasant. Charles looked relieved to see him like everything is going to be okay now and Mary remembers when she used to feel that way when she saw Francis. 

“Drugs?” He asks, “Really!?”   
“He wasn't doing them,” Mary tells him.

“Ooooh, wow, so proud.”

“Francis.”

“You met up with a girl in some trashy motel with alcohol.” He says, “Are you  _ dumb _ ? What if someone had caught you going in?”

“Mary fixed it,” Charles says it softly.

“That doesn't make the girl less dead,” Francis tells him and Mary thinks that was a bit cruel but she doesn't say anything, she just stays where she is. “Get in the car, we’ll talk about this later.” Charles doesn't argue as he says a quick goodbye to Mary and exits her apartment in a cloud of dust. Then it's just them.

Which, as of late, isn't really a good combination. 

“Try not to be too hard on him.” She says softly from her little corner of safety and Francis turns to look at her, sighing. “His friend did just kind of...die.”

“I will keep that in mind.” He says softly and then he shakes his head, “Thanks.”

“Yup.” She swallows. It’s quiet and she thinks maybe he’ll leave now, but he isn't moving towards the door. It’s so close to him, why isn't he moving?

“Mary-”

“No.” She shakes her head, moving away. The last thing she wants to do is talk about what happened at the wedding. “It’s late.”

“I-”

“No.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s quick, comes out in one breath, in a rush of words and she swallows hard as she folds her arms over her chest. “I didn't mean to...I never should have-”

“It’s fine.” She says quickly. He only implied that she was sleeping with Louis so hard that she went and slept with Louis. She sees something then, thrown half-hazardly over the corner of the coffee table.  _ Oh, what luck. _ It’s a man's suit jacket. She tears her eyes away but it’s too late, Francis is already following her gaze. 

She pretends she doesn't see the way the corners of his mouth dip slightly at the sight of it and she avoids looking at him when he looks back at her.

“Thanks for calling me.” Is what he says and then he’s leaving, the door slams hard on his way out and she pretends it’s because he’s angry with Charles, and not because he saw another man's clothes thrown around her apartment. 

She cannot seem to get the shame out of her throat.

_ -/- _

She hasn't seen Louis for a few days and for that she’s grateful, she isn't sure if she wants to see him again. Today, she lies some white roses down on a fresh grave. The dirt is wet from rain and there isn't a headstone yet. She hopes that Constance's last few moments on this earth were pain-free. Greer assures her, with the type of drug, she just fell asleep and never woke up. There was no pain. 

No pain. That’s a way to go.

Back at her office, she scrolls once more through Lola’s Instagram, it's full of pictures of Julien and white sandy beaches and Lola seems to be having the time of her life. She wonders when she will announce the baby if she will. If she decides to disappear and then pop back up a year later with a baby; that’s fine too. 

The tap on the glass makes her jump before Greer pokes her head in.

“Your boyfriend is here.”

“He’s not my-”

“Okay, then what is he?”

“He’s my....” Good god, what is he, “Whatever.” Mary says as she stands.

“Mary, your whatever is here.”

“Okay, Greer. Thank. You.” Mary says as she brushes past her and into the conference room. She doesn't know why he’s here, or why he’s in this room when he could have just come to her office. He’s looking out the window, holding a bag.

“What?” She snaps, she doesn't mean to snap, but she does. 

“Someone is not having a good day.” He jokes as he turns, he sets the bag down. “Relax, I know you well enough to know you haven't had lunch today.” He says softly, gesturing for her to sit down and she does after she locks the door. 

The air around them only seems to get thicker as she sits with him. This is...awkward. She watches him roll up his sleeves and then he’s pulling styrofoam containers out of the bag and opening them with the same hands he used to open her thighs. The same hands he used to peel her clothes off her body, the same fingers he-

“So, what, we slept together and now you think you have to take care of me?” She snaps it harshly, because why else would he be here? Feeding her?

“And here I thought I took pretty good care of you the other night.” He says with a click of his tongue against his teeth and a shake of his head. 

“Is that what you told my mom?” She asks, because he probably reported back to her. He probably always does. 

“I didn't tell your mother anything about our...encounter.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Do you want to call it something else?” Louis asks with a tilt of his head and she makes a face as he peels the plastic wrap off a just as plastic fork, putting it in her fingers. 

“I want to stop talking about it.” She tells him softly, like a child.

“Of course.” He smiles in a way that she assumes is supposed to be reassuring, but it just makes her stomach churn in a way that makes her want to run, but she swallows it and looks at the food.

“At the wedding, I saw you talking to Francis.” She says after a while, a few seconds of silence. His expression when he saw Louis’ jacket flashes in her brain and she runs her fingers through her hair as she tries not to think about it. 

“Ah, yes, lovely guy.”

“I don't think that’s genuine.” She says as she picks at her food. It’s some kind of chicken, slathered in sauce and there’s rice and she thinks green beans but she can't be sure. It smells good, she just isn't hungry. 

“That’s because it isn't.” She looks at him just then, thinking he’s joking but he’s quite serious. She doesn't say anything, though she’s sure she is glaring at him, “Is this the part where you asked what we talked about?”

“Please?” He’s giving her an odd look, like he’s telling her she doesn't want to know. Like it’s better left unsaid. 

“He told me to stay away from you.” He says after a while with a shrug, “Which I don't intend on doing.”

“Did he threaten you?”   
“No.” He says, “He’d be really stupid if he did.”

“What-”

“I could snap his spine with my pinky.” He’s joking, she knows that but she can see the bitterness behind his eyes and it makes her glare at him. She should be angry with Francis for, once again, getting involved in things that don't concern him, but she isn't. She finds she’s ready to send this fork through Louis’ hand for even joking about hurting her Francis. He senses that on her face and raises his hand in mock surrender, “Relax, joking. Would never.”

“Good.”

“You know what I find strange?” he asks suddenly and she squints at him before he continues. “The amount of affection the two of you have for each other is well, vomit-inducing, but cute. Yet either one of you seems to want to do anything about it.”

“It's not that simple.”

“Maybe not.” He hums.

“Do you want me to seek him out?” She asks, the answer is probably no, but she’s surprised to find him shrugging.

“I’d rather you went to dinner with me.” He says, “But, I can only go where you want me.” He says that almost sadly, like the thought of her actually wanting to go out with him is foreign to her. Maybe it is, or maybe it isn't. She did sleep with him, she was the one who kissed him first. She took him to bed, she thinks she could want him. She looks down at her food and then back at him as she pokes at her chicken with her fork. 

They’ve crossed the line already, he’s touched her already, why not go out with him? 

“Louis, I…” She sighs, “Thank you…” Is what she says instead, “For the...uh chicken…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of on the short side, but the next one will be pretty long I think. My mom just had a biopsy done the other day, so if you guys could send over some good vibes, that'd be really great and as always, thanks for reading. :)


	9. Humpty Dumpty

_ “I think here I will leave you.  _ _   
_ _ It has come to seem there is no perfect ending.  _ _   
_ _ Indeed, there are infinite endings. _ _   
_ _ Or perhaps, once one begins, there are only endings.” _

_ -/- _

It’s been a week since Charles’ incident and nothing ever came of it, if she closes her eyes it’s almost like it didn't happen at all. She doesn't intend on going tonight, she doesn't want to, but Margot begged her and she has a hard time saying no to that girl. So, she parks her car in an underground parking garage and makes her way to the big house the girl calls home. 

Claude’s having a graduation party, something grand and elegant, and full of people. Claude gets to rub the White House in her friends' faces and Henry gets to schmooze with wealthy politicians, everyone is happy.    
Of course, this a party planned by Kenna and the music is loud, pop tunes ripped straight off the billboard top 200 list. She watches Catherine roll her eyes and shake her head at the music but she seems to just be happy that Claude is happy and she notices that the woman stays near Margot for most of the party. It’s nice to see that resolved, she hopes Margot never has another accident. 

“Mary!” Claude shouts it excitedly as she runs towards her and she’s colliding with her a second later. “I didn't think you’d come.” She smiles when she pulls back and Mary steps back with a small smile of her own.

“I wouldn't miss this.” She tells her, even if the loud music and the people make her skin feel heavy, and her head feel fuzzy. 

“I miss you.”

“I know.” She says softly, “You’ve been staying out of trouble?”

“I haven't had to call you yet so I think I’m doing a pretty good job.” She jokes with a grin and then she points a dainty finger at the gift bag Mary is holding. “Is that for meee?” She asks and Mary breathes a laugh as she holds it up for her, she takes it. She doesn't waste time pulling the delicate tissue paper away and peering the bag. It’s a book, leather-bound, frayed edges. It's a Jane Austen novel, limited edition; she thought it had been out of print for years now but she could be wrong. 

“Where did you find this?” Claude asks as she runs her hand over the cover. The truth is, she didn't, Louis did. Mary merely mentioned in passing that she wanted to get it for the girl and it showed up at her door a day later. She doesn't know what he does, how he does certain things, but it always seems like Louis has a magnitude of tricks up his sleeve. 

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.” She smiles as she opens it, flips through the pages. They’re thin and old and easily rippable, she carefully eases each one back. “Thank you.” She says softly. It's such an odd thing, if you know Claude, it's easy to paint her as a party girl, the rich girl who gets everything she wants always. But underneath the spoiled persona, she gives to everyone else, is the girl who likes to read and write, who enjoys theatre and old movies, someone deeply sensitive and intelligent. She reminds her of Francis more than his other siblings ever did. 

“I’m going to put it away.” She tells her before pulling her into another hug and then walking away. Mary thinks that was code for she’s going to go read it right this second. 

“Where’s your shadow this evening?” Francis stands off to the side, far enough that she doesn't flinch away, but the question makes her narrow her eyes at him. 

“I don't know.” She tells him, “I’m not his keeper.” She says it's the truth. She doesn't know where Louis is or what he’s doing, she hasn't seen him since he dropped Claude's gift off. He tends to pop up at the most inopportune times though, she knows he’s always around, lingering. Sometimes, she finds him in her kitchen cooking her something to eat, which he tends to do a lot and while Louis has a lot of random skills, she never thought cooking would have been one of them. 

They haven't...there’s been no touching since the night of the wedding, she doesn't think there will be again. Louis doesn't seem to mind in the slightest, he seems content with just having her company, with simply being in her presence, but she sees the way he looks at her. He looks at her like he wants more but can't say it, he looks at her like he longs. He longs but he will never be. 

“How is Charles?” She asks him when he doesn't say anything.

“Fine.” He says, “Almost like it never happened.” He tells her and he gestures across the large room and she follows, Charles is standing next to a pretty girl with pale skin and dark curls and Mary thinks she’ll be cleaning up another crime scene too. 

“Young boys do work fast.” She mutters.

“It would appear so.” She steals a peek at Francis and he isn't looking at her, if anything he looks slightly disheveled, which is new and slightly odd, as Francis tends to be pretty tidy. Maybe seeing Louis’ clothes in her apartment did a bigger number on him than she thought. She looks away before he catches her, stares at her hands. She thinks now would be a good time to go home. She thinks she has made an appearance and has stayed an acceptable amount of time. Francis doesn't talk now and she wonders if he’s waiting for her to speak but she doesn’t. She just swallows. 

“Mary-”

“Please don't.” She says softly, there’s an apology hanging between them, a noose wrapped around its neck. She doesn't want to hear it, she doesn't want to know what he is going to say and with that, she attempts to walk out of the room, but she’s stopped.   
By The President.

“You’re a difficult person to find.” He tells her, “I was sad to hear that you left the Correspondents dinner so early.”

“I wasn't feeling well, sir.” She says. 

“I know, I heard.” He says, but what did he hear? Did Catherine tell him? His face tells her he doesn't know that part. “You were talking to Francis just now.”

“Yes.”

“It's strange seeing you two so grown now, I remember when you were children.” He smiles a small smile at that, like the thought of his children growing is sad to him. Mary doesn't think he cares, he is too busy to care. 

“Is there something you need?” She asks him because Henry doesn't talk to her, he doesn't engage in small talk unless he needs or wants something. 

“I wanted to introduce you to someone.” He tells her and her stomach flips, “Since you left us so early-”

“I really-” She’s going to cut this short, to leave and never come back because he’s waving someone over and she doesn't understand why he is here. 

“Nonsense,” Henry says and he’s joined by someone, by a monster, by the devil himself and he’s standing so close to her. “This is Oliver-”

“I know.” She tells him, swallows the horror that climbs up her throat.

“You’ve met?” Oh, how does one even begin to tell the leader of the free world he made a rapist his Attorney General? She nods, she doesn't look at Oliver, she can't. “Well, this is Mary Stuart.” He says anyways, continuing with the introduction despite it not being needed. 

“A pleasure.” The snake says, and he holds out his hand and she thinks maybe he doesn't remember her, he doesn't remember what he did to her and she can't breathe. She shakes his hand only because she has to, Henry doesn't know. He doesn't know and it would be rude, so her fingers close around the same hand that was around her throat. 

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” She says it as calmly as she can before she’s letting go and backing away. She tries not to run out of the room but once she gets to the hall, she’s moving quickly. 

_ -/- _

The Truman balcony rests on the second floor of the White House, it overlooks the south lawn. It was constructed in the late forties under the administration of Harry Truman, hence the name, and that is where she goes. She stands there, looking out at the grass, gripping the railing and she shakes and she tries to expel the sound of breaking glass from her ears. The tearing of her clothes, she feels him in her body even as she stands here. She  _ touched  _ him. He looked at her as though he had no idea who she was like he didn't remember what he did. 

She didn't know that she was being followed until she sees someone out of the corner of her eye but she doesn't say anything because her throat is tight and she’s being choked. 

“Mary,” It’s Margot and she sounds worried and when did her voice stop working, “Mary are you okay?” She isn't. She thinks about how simple it would be, how easy it would be if she just threw herself over. Maybe the fall wouldn't kill her, but she could have a few moments of peace, or maybe it would kill her and she could have an eternity of peace. 

She’d be the first person to do it, but she doesn't want to do it in front of this girl who has already been through so much.

“Mary?” She sounds scared, as though she knows exactly what she’s thinking, “Stay.” She says, “Stay right here.” She’s frantic and Mary thinks she’s running now but her eyes are glued to the ground like it’s the answer to every question she has ever had. 

She stays, she stays until she hears the door slide open again and of course, of course, the girl went to him. They always go to him.

“Mary.” Francis’ voice is soft, it's softer than she’s used to and she doesn't turn around. “Hey.” He doesn't come closer, but she hears him over the ringing in her ears, “Why don't we sit? Over there.” Oh, he thinks she’s actually going to do it, he thinks she has finally snapped, he thinks this is it. 

“I touched him.” She whispers, “Just now. I didn't know that he was here.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?” That comes out as a choke, what a stupid question. Who else would cause this? When did Francis start asking dumb questions? 

“Mary.” 

“No.” She says it quickly when she hears him come closer and he stops, “I swear to god.” She whispers, grips the railing like it's the only good thing she has left. She doesn't want to go over, she doesn't want to die, she doesn't want to go away, but she can't have him. 

“Okay.” He breathes it and she thinks he sounds scared now, “I’ll stay right here, I won't come close.”

“Okay.” She says, “I shouldn't have come, something was telling me not to, but she wanted me to…”

“They’re really happy you’re here.” He says, “We all are.” She thinks he moves just a bit to come closer and she presses herself to the railing to get him to  _ stop _ . She keeps torturing him, when did it become so easy? “My love…” That’s soft, she can't remember the last time he said that to her, it doesn't feel the same, not anymore. Now, it just feels like shattered glass. 

“Let's just…lets just sit down, okay?” He says again but she shakes her head.

“I don't want to sit with you.”

“I can go.” He says softly, “You just have to move away from the railing.”

“No.”

“If you go over I’m going with you.” He says it seriously and she swallows because he would do that. He’s so dramatic. 

“Can you imagine the media storm?” She asks softly, she swallows hard but she doesn't move and he doesn't move, maybe even the earth stops moving. She shakes her head then, “Don't be stupid.”

“Hm.” He nods, “Says the girl hanging off a balcony.” 

“Francis…” She shakes her head again, it's not a funny joke, maybe it wasn't meant as a joke, her grip only tightens until her fingers hurt. “I don't think he remembers what he did to me.” She tells him in something lower than a whisper and her eyes are full of tears, “Who forgets something like that? He was looking at me like he…” She shakes her head again, “Like he never…”

“I-”

“He hurt me.”

“I know.”

“And he doesn't even remember.” She cries. 

“He will if you tell me his name.” He says that seriously and she doesn't have to ask what he means. Everyone means the same thing, why do men always feel the need to save her? Can she not save herself? She shakes her head. 

“I just want my body back.”

“I know.”

“I...I just want it to stop.” She whispers, she wants to feel like herself again but she doesn't think she ever will and there will always be a weight in her stomach, a bitter taste in her mouth, the burning of bile rising in her throat despite how many times she tries to swallow it down. 

“I know you do.” He says softly and he almost sounds sorry, she barely has time to question why before she feels it, arms going around her and pulling herself away. “Let her go!” He sounds frantic even as she eased to the ground by gentle hands and she looks up to see Leith. He lets her go and steps back. 

_ -/- _

Catherine sits with her now on that balcony, everyone else has gone inside. Francis needed some coaxing, but eventually, he went too. Now it’s just the two of them. She mostly feels embarrassed now that it’s over, now that she’s not holding onto a railing, the grass glowing like a beautiful exit sign. 

“I had a daughter,” Catherine says softly as she looks at the pitch-black sky and Mary makes a face, because yes, she has three. “Before Henry.” She supplies.

“Oh.”

“In College, I had a very promiscuous roommate.” She tells her, “No shame to her, to each their own.”

“Catherine-”

“But when she passed out, the boys she brought over weren’t done yet, but they didn't want a sleeping girl. No, that’s no fun I believe is what they said.” She shrugs, “They woke me, they finished, I went back to sleep like it never happened.”

“Oh my-”

“Had a baby nine months later.” She shrugs, “She was...beautiful, she had this deformity though on her face. I was afraid that no one would adopt her and I still have no idea if anyone did. I hope so, it wasn't her fault.” She says softly, “I named her Clarissa.” She whispers, “They tell you not to do that, not to name them but I couldn't resist. I wanted her to have a name, in case no one took her.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Me too.” She sighs, “Henry doesn't know, he never will. I suppose that’s just a part of myself I never needed to share.”

“With anyone?”

“I’m sharing it with you.” She hums, sighs heavily, “You understand more than anyone else. It’s an unfortunate thing, being a survivor, but that is what you are.” She says softly, “And what I am, and what countless other girls and boys are.” She shrugs, “I know it doesn't feel like it, like you survived, I know some days you will wish that you didn't. Believe me, I get it, but you did.”

“I told Francis I hate him.” She says softly, she doesn't know why she says it but maybe Catherine, of all people, will understand. “He wasn't...he wasn't there to stop it. And that’s not fair, I shouldn't hate him for that.”

“Resentment and hate are two different things.” She tells her, “It is easy to confuse the two. For example, I resent Clarissa for being born out of violence, I do not hate her. You resent Francis for not getting to you on time, you do not hate him.” She says it softly, “I think he knows the difference, I think that he knows you don't actually hate him, I trust that you know that you don't hate him either.” She says softly and then it’s quiet and she isn't sure what to say now. So, they sit in silence.

“I don't think he’ll ever want me again.” She whispers that, and she knows it's stupid, but after everything that she has done to him. She can't blame him if he decides to let her go. “I slept with someone I don't even care about in that way because he was angry.” Catherine doesn't say anything, “I think that our love is tainted now.” She tells her softly. 

“No.” She says, “Once the resentment wears off you will remember that you love him and he loves you, regardless of what you do. In twenty years you’ll sit right here and you’ll remember this conversation and you’ll laugh at the absurdity.”

“Right here?” She questions. 

“When you live in the White House.” She tells her.

“I don't think Francis wants to be President.”

“I didn't say Francis was.” She says and she smiles a small smile at her and Mary shakes her head. 

“I don't want to be President.” She says with a breathy laugh, can you imagine? 

“Please.” She waves a dismissive hand, “Maybe not right now.”

“Not ever.”

“Aren't you tired of the world being run by powerful men?” She asks, “Besides, my assistant has seen it.”

“The creepy dude who always looks high?” She asks, what was his name? Nostradamus? What. A. Name. 

“Say what you want about him, but he’s almost always right.”

“Well, he’s wrong about this one.”

“No, you’ll live here, run the world, have two beautiful children with Francis, and I will visit them every day.” She adds the last part with a smile and Mary rolls her eyes. 

“Sure.” She shakes her head. “Have you told Francis this?” She asks and she doesn't say anything because of course Catherine already did. She wonders what he said, he probably rolled his eyes and walked away. 

Catherine tries to get her to stay, to sleep over, but she doesn't want to do that. She’d much rather go home and sleep in her own bed and forget that tonight even happened. 

She walks in the dark parking garage, kind of regretting her decision, picking up her pace as she heads to her car. She feels a little better after her talk with Catherine, but she still feels him all over her and she longs for a bath. She longs to scrub his hands from her skin. She unlocks her car but something tells her to turn around and when she does.

There he is. Right across from her, unlocking his own car, he doesn't see her. He’s in a navy suit, he’s cleaned up, he looks so different from the night he broke her. 

She doesn't know how it gets in her hand, but she finds she’s pulled the tire iron out of under the seat of the back seat of her car and now she’s walking, her body standing a few feet back while her mind goes forward. 

“Hey.” She says softly, voice shaky, he turns, “Remember me?” That's a whisper and he squints at her and she thinks maybe there’s fear in his eyes, but she just sees the hate that swirls in them, he does remember her. Of course, he does. He nods and it’s like she moves without warning, her weapon meets the side of his head with a resounding crack, “Do you remember what you did to me!?” She asks him.

She thinks maybe she killed him, he’s bleeding, who knew demons bled. But he groans from his place on the ground, attempts to get up as blood pours out of his head. She hits him again, this time harder, this time she hears the crack of a bone and a loud gasp and then she does it one more time, and again and again. Until the iron in her hands is dripping in blood and he doesn't move anymore. 

“Mary!” It's a shout and she jumps, a hand closes around her wrist when she looks up, she sees Louis. 

“Go away.”

“Stop.” He says when she tries to pull away. “Mary,”

“He has to die.” She doesn't sound like herself anymore, and she’s shaking so hard she thinks the earth shakes too. Louis just tightens his grip on her, twists the tire iron out of her grasp. 

“He’s dead.” He says gently, “He’s already dead.” She looks down to see there isn't much left of his skull. 

“Oh…”

“Go home.” He’s telling her, “Go home, get cleaned up.”

“What did I do?” She whispers, “Oh my god-” He grabs her shoulders.

“Look at me.”

“I killed him.”

“Yes.” He says softly, “It's okay. Mary, go home.” He tells her gently, and she looks at him and she thinks maybe he’s going to fix it but she doesn't know how and with one more nudge, she’s heading to her car and pulling out with shaking limbs.

_ -/- _

The shaking doesn't end when she walks in her door, it doesn't end when she sees that her clothes are covered in blood, it doesn't end as she grabs an arm full of clothes from her closet and drops them on her bed. She killed him, she killed him, she killed someone. She split his head open with her own hands, she broke his bones, she’s covered in his blood.

“Mary?” It's Louis, that was fast but he’s here and he heads into her room to catch her stuffing a suitcase.

“I have to go.” She tells him as she pulls her phone out of her pocket and he’s trying to stop her as she tosses it in the toilet and then she’s going back to her room and packing again.

“Mary-”

“I have to go, Louis.” She snaps, she can't stay here, she just murdered someone and not just anyone, the attorney general of the united states. She’s never killed anyone before. “Before someone finds out.”

“No one will find out.”

“You don't know that.”

“I do.” He says it seriously, grabs her with gentle hands, “Mary, no one will ever know. This is what I do, okay?” Ah, she discovered another skill of his, he can cook, clean, he has extensive knowledge of the human anatomy, and he knows how to get rid of bodies. Where did her mom find him? 

“You’re covered in blood, let me help you.” He whispers that and she nods with shaking limbs. He helps her get cleaned up, and once she’s blood-free, she goes back to packing. 

“If...If I leave now, I can be out of the country by noon-”   
“Mary-”   
“I have to go, Louis.” She thinks she’s going crazy, but she can't fathom staying here, “You...can come with me.”

“I don't think-”

“Please?” She pleads softly, “We can go away.” She says, “Just you and me, no one will ever find us no will ever have to know what I have done.” He looks like he’s at the end of his rope, he shakes his head and runs his hands over his face with a heavy sigh. He has to. He can't leave her alone, he can't let her go by herself.

“Okay.” He says finally and she doesn't say anything, she runs to him, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Um.   
> Listen, I know not everyone is going to be thrilled about this, but like...just sit tight, okay? It’s gonna be fine, I promise.


	10. Crash and Burn

_ “Whether near or far _ _   
_ _ I am always yours.” _

_ -/- _

When she was a kid she never really liked the beach. Her mom insisted on going though, they would have picnics on the sand, she would tell Mary about work, ask her about school, tease her about boys. Well, one in particular. All she would think about is how loud it was, the sound of the ocean, the squawking of birds, children screaming and laughing. She found as she got older and her mom got busier and those picnics became less frequent, that she missed it.    
She wonders what her mom is doing now. Since she left without a word, is she looking for her? Is everyone looking for her? She should have told someone, she left impulsively, she even ditched her phone. 

Louis brought her here, she doesn't know exactly where it is, but it’s hot and sandy, they are surrounded by water. The only other person besides him that she has seen is the guy who drives a boat carrying their shipment. Crates of food, water, toiletries, wine. Wine because Mary would rather die than give that up, mental break down or not. 

She watches him from her chair in the sand, he’s unloading crates and carrying them into their tiny little house. 

“Did you get m-” Her question is granted when something hits her leg with a smack and she scrambles to grab the papers. “Careful!” She whines, rolling her eyes when he laughs on his way in. She sighs as she sits back, thumbing through Daily Mail articles, New York Times, DC Politico. She doesn't live there anymore but she likes to be informed. There’s nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Henry got his bill through to the senate, which is good for him. She has no idea how he managed it, after everything, but she thinks Catherine had more to do with its success than her husband. 

She flips through it, but there’s nothing on Francis or anyone else that she knows and while that usually wouldn't set off red flags, she knows how much Francis hates the press, it feels…

She can't go back. She’s made up her mind. She’s going to live a beautiful, comfortable life here with Louis and it’ll be fine. 

They’ve been here for three months now, or maybe four, it's easy to lose time here. She thinks she likes waking up to waves crashing against rocks, to the sun hitting her face, to Louis’ lips at her throat and his hands on her skin under the thin sheet. She sighs before she rolls until she’s over him, and she thinks she likes the sound their bodies make as the mattress moves under them. 

“Do you think they’re looking for me?” She asks as the sweat cools off their bodies and she’s staring up at the ceiling, braiding a strand of her hair. It’s gotten longer, and darker it seems. She wants to cut it but she doesn't really trust Louis with scissors yet. 

Louis doesn't answer, but he must be thinking the same thing. They most certainly are. She shouldn't have left like that, but she was in shock after what she had done and she wasn't going to stay even if Louis begged her. She still thinks about that night, about breaking open Severins skull with just a piece of iron, all the blood. Louis didn't tell her what he did with the body, she isn't sure she wants to know, but he assured her that no one would ever find him. Or her. 

She thinks about what happened before that often too, how she threatened to throw herself over the railing. How she was beyond ready to let go of everything. She thinks about what Francis must be thinking right now, that was the last time they spoke or saw each other and she fell off the face of the earth right after. 

Her face must set off some alarm bells in Louis because he sits up and squints at her. 

“Do you regret this?” He asks and she sits up too, there’s pain there now, like telling him that she wants to go back, that some part of her might regret this; she would be saying that she regrets him. She doesn't regret him, not really, she’s incredibly grateful for everything he has done for her. Is she mistaking her gratitude for genuine feelings of something like love? Probably, but that’s another topic for a different day.

“I…” She can't seem to get the words out though, she takes a deep breath before she opts to lean over and connect their lips. She doesn't know how else to tell him that she chooses him, she chooses this. 

_ -/- _

Another week, another shipment, this time is different though. There are no newspapers, no articles, and Louis tells her there must have been a mixup at the dock. 

She swallows the doubt with a sip from her water bottle.

Two more weeks, no newspapers, no articles, and once again he tells her there must have been a mixup. 

The suspicion curls in her gut but she shakes it off and continues reading the new book that came this week. 

She doesn't get her paper after another week and she’s ready to confront him about it, but he comes to her first with something in his hand. It’s an envelope, with her name on it and she makes a face. 

“Did you...did you contact someone?” He asks and he looks angry, not that he has any right to be, she shakes her head. 

“No.”

“Really?” He eyes her suspiciously, he tosses the envelope in her lap and it’s thin, “What the hell is that?”

“Mail?” She questions, “I don't know.”

“Mary, don't lie to me.”

“I’m not.” She says with a shake of her head, “Louis, I don't even know where we are, how am I supposed to-”

“My God, he found you.” He mutters it, he looks incredibly annoyed, maybe even angry at the prospect that Francis was probably the one who tracked her down, but she looks at the handwriting on the envelope and it isn't his. 

“I-” She goes to assure him, but remembers he’s angry about nothing and decides to let him stew. He goes into their tiny house with a slam of the door and she rips open her mail.

_ “Mary,  _

_ I don't know why you decided to disappear, I don't care. It took a long time to find you, I hope you actually get this. There’s something you should know. _ _   
_ _ 1). Julien is dead.  _ _   
_ _ 2). Lola’s in bad shape, there’s more but I can't tell you in a letter. _ _   
_ _ You need to come back, now. Or I’m coming to get you. -Greer.” _

Julien is dead and Lola is all alone, but what else is there? She turns the paper over in her hands but there’s nothing else and she runs her hands through her hair as she heads back to the house. 

Louis put up a good fight about just staying on their island, in their sanctuary and letting her friends figure it out on their own. It doesn't matter if he wants to stay or go, Greer is going to come and get her if she isn't there in time for Julien's funeral. He packs their bags, loads a boat and then they’re off.

DC looked the same as when she left it, aside from the snow. What month is it? She forgot what seasons looked like. It’s been nothing but sunshine and warmth since the night she left. Her apartment is still her apartment and when she goes in she finds her furniture is covered by white sheets and drawers have been cleaned out, shelves have been sifted through, her closet is open. Someone was here, they were probably looking for clues as to where she went and guilt collides with her chest as she sets her bag down. 

“We’ll be back on a plane first thing tomorrow morning.” She assures Louis as she wipes dust off what used to be her coffee table. Louis doesn't say anything, he just sets about cleaning up the place the best they can. 

They’ll be staying the night here, might as well clean it. She can't choke on dust in her sleep and die. 

She finds out that the funeral is at four, so that doesn't give them much time to get ready. Louis isn't going, funerals aren't his thing. 

“You went to his wedding.”

“I like happy things.” He tells her from the couch as she pulls on her heels and heads out the door. 

_ -/- _

She can understand his anger or his bitterness. They were going to stay on the island for as long as possible, possibly forever, only to return a few short months later. She tightens her coat against the chill as she flags down a taxi, she only knows the whereabouts of his funeral because Greer- in addition to her letter- tucked a pamphlet in the envelope. He died in a house fire, he got Lola out and then died at the hospital from the smoke inhalation. 

Julien was a good man and she hates that he’s gone now.

The church is large and spacious and there are crowds of people inside and outside. She stays in the back, away from everyone. 

“Mary?” She turns her head in time to be hit with a force large enough to nearly knock her off her feet, “Where have you been!?” Aylee is saying and she can't tell if she’s crying because they’re at a funeral or if she’s crying because Mary is here, but she smooths her hair and she hugs her back until she pulls away. “We thought you were dead.” She whispers that. 

“What-”

“Francis told us about the stunt you pulled at Claude's graduation party.” Greer’s voice is less than warm as she walks over, she pulls Aylee away from her so she can stand next to her. 

“Oh-”

“Oh. Is that all you’re going to say?” She asks with a shake of her head, “You had a meltdown and then disappeared without a word, do you have any idea-”

“Can we talk about this later?” Mary asks but that only seems to make her angrier, Greer nods though, swallows it for now. “How is Lola? The baby-”

“Lola is in hell.” Greer snaps.

“Uh, Mary…” Aylee’s voice is soft now, “She...she lost the baby.” She whispers it like it's a secret and maybe it is, Mary doesn't know when she…

“What?” Her stomach drops, that’s horrible. “Oh my god-”

“Francis doesn't know.” She tells her after that, “She didn't see the point in telling him after, she just tried to move on with Julien...and now.” Aylee shakes her head. “And you were gone.” Mary doesn't know what to say to that, she doesn't know what to say about any of it. She expected to come back to a heavily pregnant Lola, not...not  _ this _ . 

She really lost everything.

Francis isn't here, at the funeral, he isn't here. She wonders why that is, but Mary sits in the back, Aylee between her and Greer because she thinks if she sits next to Greer, the girl may kill her. She feels the angry stares even as she tries to focus on the service. 

She debates not going up to her, not approaching her at all. Even as her heels sink into the mud of the cemetery, she glances at Lola every now and again. She hasn't seemed to notice her, she’s pale. She’s skinnier, she looks so tired, like the slightest breeze may threaten to take her away. 

After a while, she does decide to go over to her. 

“Lola,” Mary says softly and her friend stops as she heads for the SUV where her parents are waiting. She turns slowly, squints.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Lola asks and her voice is flat and barely recognizable. Mary takes a step forward but she shakes her head. “No.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“For?” She questions, “Disappearing or…” She shakes her head again, “It doesn't matter.”

“I liked Julien.”

“Me too.” She says with a click of her tongue against her teeth, “Loved him. Or something. He was good...kind, everything you told me you would find for me.”

“Lola-”

“He’s dead.” She says softly, “And my...son, he’s dead too.” She sighs heavily, eyes fill with tears but she blinks them back as she looks at the ground and then back up at Mary, “Francis doesn't know...I know you were probably wondering if our secret is-”

“Lola I don't care about that-”

“You  _ do _ .” She spats as anger cracks to the surface now, “You cared so much you made me get married.”

“I-”   
“Our secret is dead, our secret is buried, it's nothing now. There’s nothing left. So, why are you even talking to me?” She’s not making any sense, but Mary thinks that is just the grief talking and not Lola, “You left.”

“I know.”

“Julien is dead.” She whispers.

“Yes…”

“Do you forgive me yet?” She asks and it's so soft she barely hears it, but before Mary can answer, the girl shakes her head and climbs in the SUV and the door closes with a slam.

_ -/- _

She didn't expect the warmest of welcomes, but she didn't expect damn near everyone to hate her. Even Aylee,  _ Aylee _ gives her a few side-eyes. Her firm is empty, aside from boxes of old files and everything that was still untouched in her safe. No one knows the pen to it and she didn't bother giving it to anyone before she left. 

She finds out that Greer had been running MSA until they could find Mary, but the firm soon went under and now all that’s left is a building and some dust.    
She also found out that Kenna had been ousted from The White House after an affair was uncovered. Kenna and the President, they had been together since even before Penelope. That explains why Kenna refused to come with her after Mary left. 

She was dragged through the press, kicking and screaming, and no one to help her. Now, they’re lucky if she leaves her apartment anymore. 

“Kenna?” Mary questions as the door open with ease. The apartment is dark, curtains were drawn, tv on low, Kenna sits on her couch wearing baggy sweatpants and an old yellow t-shirt. Her hair is tangled, and she looks like she hasn't slept in months.

“They told me you were back.” She says softly, “I thought they were lying.” 

“I’m really sorry,” Mary says softly as she eases herself down on the couch and Kenna makes a face as she tilts a bottle of something strong to her lips.

“About what?” She asks, “Leaving without saying goodbye or about what happened to me?”

“All of it,” Mary says softly and Kenna nods, she looks angry but she nods and swallows whatever it is she wanted to say. “Kenna-”

“No. Not worth it.”

“What?”

“Why did you leave?” She asks quickly and she’s the first person to actually ask her that, “Why? Can you tell me that?”

“I...I had to.”

“Why!?” That’s asked on a shout and Kenna tears her hand through the tangled strands of her hair. “I waited for you, I thought that as soon as you found out what was going on here that you would come back.”

“I didn't know.”

“You’re supposed to fix things, this was right up your alley. Greer tried, Aylee tried, but they weren't you. Do you want to know what the press did to me? Every word they could come up with that wasn't one they had already used, suddenly that’s what I was.”

“Kenna-”

“I know what I did was stupid.” She says softly, “I know that and I wanted to break it off but he wouldn't let me go, Mary, he wouldn't let me go. Then one day, I tipped someone-”

“You got caught on purpose?”

“It was the only way to make him stop.” She tells her, “I needed you, you abandoned all of us, what else was I supposed to do?” 

“I didn't know.” She whispers, “I didn't…”

“I’m a whore.” She shrugs, “That’s all I am now, and you can't even grant me the courtesy of telling me why you left.” Mary sighs as she runs her hands over her face as she tries to breathe and she remembers the crack of Severin's skull, how she kept hitting him and hitting him until he stopped moving.

“I took a tire iron to my rapists' skull.” She tells her slowly, around a hard swallow. “The new Attorney General.”

“Oh.” Kenna breathes after a few seconds of silence, nods after a bit more. “Is he dead?”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” She says softly, tilts the bottle to her lips again, “Good. That’s good.”

She makes Kenna something to eat later, just something from a can and then she puts her to bed. Aylee has been staying over the last few weeks to help out until Kenna feels better, and Mary leaves to head back to her apartment upon her arrival.

Louis doesn't look happy when walks in.

“That was a long funeral.”

“Traffic.” She snaps back, she doesn't want to fight with him. “Relax, I was visiting some friends.” He nods, but he doesn't say whatever he’s thinking. She sighs as she sits on her couch. He shakes his head when she tells him that she’s thinking about pushing their flight back. 

“I can't leave them-”

“They’re grown adults.”

“Who need me.”

“ _ Mary _ .” He snaps her name like it tastes disgusting and she straightens, pulling away when he crosses the room to her. “You can't fix everything for everyone all the time, it’s going to kill you.”

“Why do you want to leave so badly?” She asks him, is he running from someone? Is Mary just a cover-up, Kenna was right, she barely knows him. 

“Why don't you?”

“I thought I did...I don't know anymore.” She says honestly, after seeing everyone, after seeing the destruction she left. She can't fathom disappearing again, not the same way she did. 

“We were so happy before.” He seems sad as he traces circles to the back of her hand and she strokes his cheek with a fond smile because he’s right, they were. They still can be.    
“I want us to have a real shot.” He says softly after a while, and she opens her mouth to assure him that they will, she just has to take care of a few things first. She can't leave so impulsively this time, she has to tie up some loose ends. 

The knock interrupts her though and Louis makes a frustrated noise when she rises to get the door, she throws a glare over her shoulder at him before pulling the door open.

“Hey, you.” Leith smiles at her and she freezes. Ah, dammit, she should have known he was going to find out she was back. “I have been sent to retrieve you.”

“ _ Retrieve _ me?” She spats,  _ is she dry cleaning now _ ? 

“Oh, and I was given specific instructions.” He leaned in to whisper, “Not to let you bring the lap dog.” He points at Louis, who just rolls his eyes. 

“I’m...I’m not-”

“I’m sorry, it wasn't a request,” Leith says and she knows what that entails, if she doesn't go, he’s coming here. She supposes she owes him this much, she did fall off the face of the earth for months. She grabs her coat.

“You cannot be serious,” Louis says when he sees her getting ready to leave. “Really?”

“Five minutes.”

“Oh my god.” He sighs and she realizes why he wants to leave. It comes to her as she pulls her coat on, as she leans down to sweep her lips over his, as she walked to the elevator.

He wants to leave so badly because Francis is here and as long as Francis is here, Mary and Louis have no real shot. 

_ -/- _

The drive is quiet as she watches buildings pass by, he takes her to the apartment he has near the capitol. It’s more luxurious than his home in Vermont and she doesn't think he spends much time here. He takes her up the elevator, down the hall, to the door and then they stop. 

“Ready?” Leith asks her, he knows what this must feel like for her, he’s been here since the beginning and while he’s one of the only Secret Service agents with a hint of personality, he’s probably the only one Francis has actually confided in. 

“Yeah, just…” She nods and he opens the door to lead her in. He stays in the hall once she’s inside, gives them some semblance of privacy. The apartment is large, a few bedrooms, a master suite, floor to ceiling windows all around and an open floor plan. She thinks his siblings spend more time here than he actually does. She hasn't been here in what seems like forever.

She remembers her first night here, and every night after that. 

She stands there, looking around for what feels like forever, just in the center of the room. She’s not sure what to do, does she sit and wait? Does she go look for him? She swallows hard as the anticipation rises in her throat and then she hears it. Footsteps. 

The double doors to the master open after that and swing shut loudly and there he is. He stops just short of reaching her, far enough away not to spook her, but close enough to know it's really her. He looks at her like a weight has been lifted, like every worry he ever had was gone and he looks so relieved. But underneath, he’s  _ pissed _ . He’s paler, thinner, there are dark circles under his eyes and he looks like hell, but she can't blame him.

“I-”

“Don't.” He says it quickly, “Don't say anything. I just want to look at you.” She steps back just a little, swallows as he does it and she feels his gaze on her, it effectively amps up her heartbeat but she tries not to show it. 

“Enough?” She asks after what she thinks has been a million years.

“Not nearly.” He answers simply and they’re quiet again as she looks at the floor. 

“Francis-”

“I thought you were dead…” He tells her softly, a voice she doesn't really recognize, “Everyone did.” She looks at him, “I thought you left that night and you threw yourself off a bridge somewhere...I thought I was stupid for not insisting on staying with you. I had them search the ocean, any body of water, hospitals, morgues, police stations. For weeks, no one could find you.”

“I’m...I’m sorry…”

“Sorry.” Here’s the angry part, “You dangled yourself off the Truman balcony and then disappeared without a word and all you can say is  _ sorry _ ?”

“I don't know what else-”

“Tell me why you left!” That’s a shout and she jumps back, “ _ Please _ .”

“I had to.”

“Why?” He looks annoyed, frustrated, it mixes with the relief that she wasn't dead. It mixes like oil mixes with water, they rest on top of each other but don't combine. “Did he make you?” She doesn't have to ask who he’s referring to, she shakes her head, “Did he give you some ultimatum? Does he have something on you?”

“It wasn't like that.”

“Do you have any idea what kind of hell we’ve been living in trying to hunt you down?” He asks, “Greer and Aylee don't even have jobs anymore, and Kenna-”

“I didn't know.” 

“Did you know about Lola?”

“No.” She says softly and he shakes his head like he doesn't believe her, “I didn't.”

“It was front page of every news outlet across the globe, you had to have been blind not to know.” He snaps it and she blinks. The mixup at the docks, how sometimes pages of her newspaper would fall out before it reached her, or it wouldn't come at all. She must make a face, one that he can read because he straightens, tilts his head like he has it all figured out. 

“What?” He asks, “Has someone been tampering with your sources?”

“He wouldn't do that.” She says slowly, softly, because he wouldn't. He knows how much she cared about that stuff, he wouldn't actively keep it away from her. “Louis-”   
“Of course he would, Mary!” He yells with a shrug, “How else was he supposed to keep you right where he wanted you? Let me guess, has he been itching to leave the second the damn plane landed?”   
“Stop.”   
“He knew if you had found out even a fraction of what was going on back home you would come running.” He tells her and she feels sick, like she might throw up because he seems satisfied with his handiwork, now that she’s going over every word Louis has said to her in the last three months. 

“He wouldn't-”

“Why?” He asks, “Because he loves you? He didn't want you to leave his bed, Mary. He knew if you came back to Washington, that you would eventually…” He stops abruptly and she makes a face, tilts her head.

“What?” She asks, it's her turn to ask questions now, “Come back to you? Is that what you were going to say?” He’s quiet, but only for a moment as he takes a breath.

“I hadn't lost hope.” He shrugs, “I thought maybe you hadn't either, but then you left the country with another man and...I don't know anything anymore.” He says that softly and he’s looking at her now, in a way that...he hasn't before. He’s looking at her like she makes him sick, like he can't stand the sight of her, she’s used up, washed up, trash. 

“I left with him because he made me feel safe.”

“Mary.”

“And he washed the blood off my clothes, after I…” She shakes her head, swallows hard, “I bashed the man who hurt me’s skull in.” He didn't know that part, he just blinks though, he doesn't say anything. She was so grateful for him, so thankful that he was there every time she needed him, that she didn't even see that she was playing right into his hand and now Francis…

“You must hate me now.” She says softly, “You must think I’m disgusting.” She can't breathe, not really, she’s just thinking about all the times she let Louis in her body, she let him hold her, let him kiss her, dry her tears. 

“No.” He says, “No, I think he used you. I think he preyed on your vulnerabilities. I think he made you trust him. None of that is your fault.” 

“I don't want to go home yet.” She tells him softly, she doesn't want to face him. Not yet, she just wants to sit. Francis just nods and then he’s pulling two glasses out of a cabinet and pouring something strong into it. 


	11. Pick Me, Choose Me, Love Me

" _There's something cold and heavy_  
 _Sitting on me somewhere_  
 _And until it budges,_  
 _I am no good._ "

_-/-_

The sun hits her face from where it pours in through the blinds over the windows and she stirs as she pulls the thick blanket over her head with a groan. This doesn't feel like her blanket, upon closer inspection however, she finds that it smells like Francis.  
Her eyes pop open at that sudden realization and she sits up with a start. She's alone and the room is bright with the morning sun and she runs her hands over her face as she looks around. Okay, this hasn't happened in a while. She doesn't see him when she looks over at the other side of the bed. She looks down to find she's wearing one of his old "Vote Valois" sweatshirts and she runs her fingers over the familiar lettering, remembering how proud Claude was when she designed them and made everyone she knew wear one. Her clothes are folded neatly on his dresser, they're not thrown around like they were pulled off between heated kisses and frantic hands.

Her head hurts as she gets up, she squints at the lights as she tiptoes out into the living area, she tries to keep quiet. There's really no point in the gesture other than the fact that her head is actually going to explode.

"Morning." The voice makes her jump and there he is, over the fridge and she sees their glasses are still sitting on the coffee table. She knows they drank, they talked and they talked a lot, but she doesn't remember what it was about. She spins on her heels to look at him and then pulls at the hem of her borrowed shirt to make it longer when she realizes how bare her legs are.

"Uuuuuh-"

"How are you feeling?"

"Confused." She squeaks when she catches him looking at her legs, but he's quick to stop, choosing instead to meet her eyes. "Francis."

"Yes?"

"Did...did we...um-"

"No." He tells her, "Why would I redress you after effectively undressing you?" That's said with a playful smirk and she swallows hard.  
"Haaa-"  
"We had a bit to drink, I told you to take my bed, I took one of the guest rooms. Nothing happened." He says that without the playful tone, he's serious now and she shakes her head as she steps back.

"I need to go home."

"Eat something first."

"Francis-"  
"You left for three months without a word after a suicide attempt." He says, "Sit. Down." He pulls a chair out for her and she shakes her head.

"Can I get dressed first?" She asks softly and he nods as he pulls something out of the fridge. She doesn't come back immediately after getting dressed and maybe that's why she, quite literally, collides with him on the way back. "Did you think I crawled out the window?" She asks as she jumps back.

"Can you blame me?" He asks with a step back and she shakes her head.

"So…" She sighs heavily as they sit at the table, she doesn't know what happens now but she picks at her food and he watches her pick at her food and it's quiet.

"I like having you here." He says softly, "Feels like old times."  
"Old times." She hums, "It isn't."

"No." He sounds a little sad about that, but she doesn't add anything to it and she has a feeling he isn't going to let her go without a fight.

"Francis…" She says softly, "I can't stay…"

"No, I know." She has to go, it's bad enough she ended up here all night, she can't stay all morning too. Louis will look for her if he isn't already.

"What did we talk about last night...after the…" The fight they had, the words that were shared. The realization she had that led to the drinking, that led to the talking, then back to the drinking and now here they are. He doesn't answer right away, he just taps his fingers on the tabletop and sighs heavily.

"Lola." He tells her, "And Louis, where you went." He shrugs, "Why you blame me for what happened." That comes out softer than the others and she leans back with a shake of her head.

"I'm sorry."

"I should be saying that to you." He says softly and he doesn't look at her, "I should have been there, I should have left sooner, gotten to you quicker. It didn't have to happen, it shouldn't have happened." She wants to tell him that it isn't true, that there was nothing he could have done and if he had shown up during it, she doesn't know what would have happened. They could have killed him, maybe they would have, she's surprised they didn't kill her.

She remembers though, when she was hovering over her own body, she could hear her phone ringing on the floor. She could see his name on the screen. She focused on that, on anything that wasn't what was happening, and she remembered thinking that he was on the way or that he was close and it would be over soon. And then the phone stopped ringing and he didn't come for her.

"I need to go home." She tells him with a hard swallow and then she's standing, she doesn't want to talk about this. She doesn't want to go back there, not with him. He stands too.

"Mary-"

"No, I...I have to go." She says as she walks towards the door. "Bye."

"Wait." It comes out of his mouth quickly and she barely has time to react before he's coming to her. She's tense in his arms when he pulls her against him and she's not really sure she's breathing until he pulls back and she steps away until she's at least a full arm's length away. He opens his mouth to say something but then stops, and then when he finally does say something, she doesn't expect it. "The last thing I want to do is pressure you."

"Francis-"

"Louis, he may make you feel safe but you don't love him."

"You're stepping over some boundaries." She says slowly, but he's right, she doesn't love him.

"He's going to make you choose." He tells her, "Especially knowing that you were here all night and half the morning."

"We didn't...do anything."

"He's not going to believe you."

"I'm sorry, do you know...do you know him?"

"Do you?" The snap makes her jump and he sighs heavily, seemingly calming himself down. She doesn't know Louis, she knows what he wants her to know but other than that, she doesn't know him on an intimate level. She knows what he likes, she can't really build a life with someone on just that alone.

"Get to the point."

"Choose me." He says it on a breath, it's almost a plea and she swallows as she steps back until her hand finds the doorknob. "I told you before that I would wait as long as you need."

"I have to go." She whispers it, "Please let me go."

_-/-_

Louis isn't there when she walks through the door and she's thankful for that. It gives her the chance to change, to shower, to pop a few aspirins for her hangover. He doesn't come back until the sun is setting and she's chopping up an apple for dinner. He wasn't here to cook for her and she doesn't cook. Also, she doesn't have a phone anymore, so she can't order anything.

"You're here." She tries a small smile, it doesn't feel right, it feels forced and maybe he sees that.

"As are you."

"I've been here." She tells him as she looks back down at her fruit.

"You weren't here last night." He says, "Or this morning."

"I...fell asleep."

"Fell asleep."

"Yup." She says softly and he walks over to her, he tries to kiss her but she moves her head away, which gets some reaction from him. He sighs heavily, like he knows something.

"Did…" He pauses, "I was thinking we could leave again in a few weeks." He tells her, "Give you a chance to tie up any loose ends." Loose ends being Francis, no doubt and she shrugs.

"Louis…" She doesn't know how to tell him she has no intention of leaving again. The island thing is over, it was nice while it lasted, but she's needed here. "I can't leave them." He deflates at that.

"What did he say to you?" He asks, "Did he get into your head?"

"No." She says, "Not all of my decisions have to do with Francis." She tells him and she sends her knife through her fruit with a loud snap.

"I knew the second we came back here that he would dig his claws into you and I would lose you." He's angry now and she doesn't think she's ever seen him angry. It's not exactly comforting and she doesn't like that he's this close to her. "Did he get you in his bed? Whisper sweet nothings in your skin until-"

"Back up." She tells him but he doesn't, he just keeps coming for her as she steps back. She thinks about how she used to feel safe with him, now she doesn't know what to feel. He's looking at her like she betrayed him. He's looking at her like he wants to steal her away and never come back.

She doesn't remember stamping _Property of Louis_ on her thigh but he seems to think that she has.

"Mary-"

"Why do you care what we talked about, I don't want to leave like before-" He's grabbing her now, pulling her to him and she sucks in a startled breath. "Why-"  
"Because I'm in love with you!" It's a desperate shout and she thinks they could hear it all the way in space. All she can think about is how he isn't supposed to do that, he was never supposed to love her. It's all her fault, she strung him along. She made him believe that she could love him back, that she could forget Francis and be with him. He's holding her too tightly now and when did the room start spinning.

She's never been scared of him, but she is now and she doesn't even realize she does it until something warm hits her hand. She pulls back with a gasp, a horrified gasp and wipes the blood on her shirt and she looks to see that she's plunged her knife so deep into him, it's up to the hilt.

She wants to feel bad, and she does, but he can't grab her like that. He knows he can't grab her like that.

_-/-_

She thinks it's too loud in this kitchen, she pulled the knife out a little while ago, she thinks maybe she shouldn't have done that. Her ears are ringing loudly and Louis hasn't moved in a while. The pool of blood under him expands slowly and she doesn't know if he's breathing. She's covered in blood, so much of it that she might as well have been rolling around in it.  
She didn't mean to, really, she didn't. He grabbed her, he yelled at her. He was scaring her. It's his fault.

She doesn't hear the door open slowly, she barely hears footsteps. She just sits on the floor, knees pressed to her chest and she shakes. There's blood everywhere, it's everywhere. It's all over her, it's on her dress, her arms, the skin of her legs, her face even from when she wipes at her tears. It's dry now and crusty and it itches. She's shaking, when did she start shaking?

"Mary." It's Francis, when did he get here? "Mary what did you do?"

"He told me he loved me." She tells him in something that sounds like her voice, but it's hoarse and raw and her throat is dry. She doesn't elaborate, she isn't sure if she has anything to add, so she just sits and she watches Francis walk over to Louis. She thinks his shoes sound different when they're walking through blood.

He's checking for a pulse but she doesn't think he'll find one. She thinks that Louis has been dead for a while now. The pool of blood stopped expanding, doesn't that mean there's no blood left? Doesn't the heart need blood to pump?

"I'm going to call an ambulance." He says softly but he takes his sweet time doing it, he makes the call and Leith trails in after a while. "No press." He says that slowly, right, they know where she lives. If they see an ambulance outside, the headlines will be…

Leith leaves after that and after a few minutes, the door is shoved open. It's a more frantic opening than Francis' gentle easing.

"Jesus Christ." Greer breathes and she wonders who called her, she thinks maybe Francis lied about calling an ambulance, that he called her instead. Because Louis is already dead. She's never seen her surprised before, shocked even, it takes a lot to shock Greer.

"He told me he loved me." She says softly, again, she doesn't know why. Greer just nods. She doesn't look angry like before, she just looks...worried.

"Get her out of here." She instructs gesturing at Francis.

"Did I kill him?" She whispers, eyes flooding, Francis shakes his head as he crouches, "There's blood on my clothes."

"I know."

"It's in...in my hair…" She tells him, "I don't even know how that happened…"

"Mary." Francis says her name gently, "I need you to stand up." He whispers it, but she shakes her head.

"He told me he loved me." She doesn't know why she keeps telling him that, why she keeps repeating it but he just sighs.

"Okay." He sighs heavily and when he reaches, she doesn't move away. She thinks maybe she doesn't notice anymore. She's imagining white beaches and ocean currents right now. Francis is careful as he tucks an arm under her knees and curves the other behind her back and then they're moving. Before she knows it, he's setting her down on the edge of her bed. She can hear them now, the paramedics are here and they're working on him and Francis closes the door so she can't see.

Then he's coming back to her.

"Mary…" She thinks he's going to ask if she's okay, but she isn't and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out, so he doesn't ask.

"There's blood on my clothes."

"I know." He says softly, "Can...can I...um…" He reaches around to the zipper of her dress and when she doesn't stop him, he eases it down and then he's pulling her heels off a moment later.

_-/-_

"How long has she been-"

"A couple of hours." Francis answers. He got her cleaned up, helped her change, and as soon as he was out of the room, she crawled in her closet and closed the door.

"Mary," Her mother's voice is sweet and she's closer now, approaching the door, "You can come out, dear, it's alright." She can hear her reaching for the handle but someone stops her.

"If you open it, she screams," Francis tells her, he found out the hard way.

"She's in shock." Greer's voice is far away, she thinks she's standing in the doorway, "It's best to leave her be."

"How do we know she isn't hurting herself in there?" Her mother's voice is a harsh whisper, more like a hiss and she gets it. Mary disappeared for so long, and when she found out she came back, she wanted to see her. Only to find out her daughter butchered her...whatever he was and locked herself in a closet.

"Mary," Greer calls, "Knock if you're conscious." It's quiet as they wait and she hears someone shift when she doesn't do it right away, but she raises her hand and she knocks lightly three times. "See?"

"What the hell happened?" Her mother sounds desperate and she hears her heeled shoes pacing against the floor. Mary would like to know too, but so much has happened now, it's hard to pin-point the exact event. She wants her to come out, everyone wants her to come out.  
But she doesn't want to come out, she never wants to come out.

Kenna comes out of her apartment for the first time in months, she hears her shoes approach the closet. She doesn't know how long it's been now, maybe hours or days, people have come and gone. They keep trying to coax her out. She just wants quiet.

"I thought he loved me," Kenna tells her and she can hear her now, sitting on the edge of her bed. Mary doesn't say anything, "I mean, I know that he was married and he had others but...I thought for sure that he loved me." She pauses to wait for Mary's commentary when she doesn't get it, she continues.

"I've never had that. Love, or whatever. I keep thinking I found it, I keep thinking the next one is it. But people only want me because they need something, a pretty thing to put on display, a toy they can have until they get bored." Kenna sighs heavily, "Anyways, it changed after a while, he got...he started being possessive in ways that he hadn't been before, you know? I felt like nothing was good enough, he was wanting more pieces of me and Penelope distracted him for a little while, but then he was back and he was worse." Mary listens, "I got axed from the White House on purpose. It was the only way he would let me leave, I'm sorry I didn't come to you. I'm sorry I didn't leave when you left before. He had this hold...on me."

Mary has never wanted someone to shut up more than she does in this precise moment.  
"I missed you, I thought you'd come back once you heard but you didn't. I think I was angry because you didn't say goodbye, not that I deserved one. I know that I hurt you when I chose Henry over you." She hears her stand, "Wanna know what I learned?"

Mary knocks as an answer.

"I think we rely on you too much." She says softly, "We're always looking to you for all the answers and I think we need to realize that you can't just...fix everything all the time." She can't. "At some point, we should have realized that you would snap." Kenna approaches the closet now and Mary tenses, "Now look, you've locked yourself in a closet. A closet, Mary. There's only so much you can handle before you can't handle anything anymore."

"Kenna." Her voice is hoarse.

"Yes?"

"Please." She breathes, _"Shut up."_ She locked herself in here so that it would be quiet. It's not quiet, everyone keeps talking. She needs quiet.

"Can I sit with you?" Kenna asks softly, "I won't talk." She says and Mary shakes her head before pushing her hand under the crack in the door, Kenna's fingers find hers a second later and she hears her sigh as she sits with her back against the door. It's quiet.

It's finally quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does it feel like a monde fic now?
> 
> If the chapter disappeared here or on Fanfiction, it's because I had to fix something.


	12. The Caged Bird

_ “If you cannot love me, I will die. _ _   
_ _ Before you came I wanted to die, _ _   
_ _ I have told you many times. _ _   
_ _ It is cruel to have made me want to live  _ _   
_ _ Only to make my death more bloody.” _

_ -/- _

She thinks she’s going to murder Leith if he keeps chatting with her through the door. She thinks she’s going to strangle him, rip his tongue out. If he says one more thing about how much sugar is  _ actually  _ in a lemon cake; she’s going to lose it more than she already has. 

“You know if you come out, I can make you something.” He offers, does he even cook? “You have to be hungry.” She is but she doesn't want to admit it, not to  _ him _ . “Mary, come out of the closet.”

She’d rather die than give him the satisfaction. 

“That’s a sentence I never thought I’d say to you.” He says with a click of his tongue against his teeth, “But that’s okay. Love is love.”

“Leith.” It’s Francis, “Annoying her to death is not going to help.” He sounds frustrated. She doesn't know how long it’s been now but her limbs are aching, her head hurts and she’s dizzy. It’s very warm in this closet, but she can't come out yet. 

People come and go, they come and sit and they talk to her about anything and everything. She’s asked questions she doesn't answer when they worry, she knocks. It’s a long and never-ending cycle and she thinks it's finally over but then she hears someone walking. 

“My dear.” Her mother says softly. “Don't you want to lie down in your bed?” She asks and Mary doesn't answer, “It's soft, surely it's more comfortable than the floor.” She doesn't answer, “Okay.” Her mom breathes heavily, “This is getting ridiculous.” 

“No!” It's a shriek as she scoots away from the closet door, but before it can get opened, someone stops it. 

“Hey.” Francis swoops in, pulling her mother away from the closet, “If you open that and force her out, you will only make this  _ worse _ .” He’s firm, stern, he’s never talked to her mother like that and the woman huffs as she steps back.

“ _ Fine. _ ” She breathes, “Fine, but if she’s in there one more day, I’m pulling her out.” It’s quiet again and Mary curls in on herself as she tries to breathe. She doesn't know if her mom has left or if she’s all alone now. 

“Mary.” Francis says her name softly, “It’s alright, you’ll come out when you’re ready.” 

“Are you alone?” She asks softly and he doesn't answer right away but she hears the door close after a few minutes. 

“I am.”

“Okay.” She whispers, “Okay. That’s good.” She doesn't want to talk to anyone else, she just wants to talk to him. 

“Mary-”

“He didn't make me choose.” She tells him with a sniffle, “But I think if I hadn't stabbed him...that he would have demanded it. Francis, no one has told me…” Her voice breaks and she swallows until she can speak again, “If I killed him...did I kill him?”

“No.” He says softly, “No, he’s okay. I think he’s out of the hospital now, he isn't pressing charges, he isn't doing anything. I think he told the authorities that he...he walked into the knife or something.” 

“He wanted me to love him back.” She says softly, “If it isn't obvious, I think I picked you.” She tells him and he breathes a laugh. 

“I think this is the most you’ve spoken in days.” He’s smiling, she can hear it in his voice and maybe he thinks this is a turning point, that she’s going to open the door and run in his arms. She isn't doing that, she’s tired. 

“Please come out.” He says after a little while, after a long stretch of silence, “Please.”   
“No.”

“Mary…” He sounds desperate like he’s two seconds away from pulling her out himself. He doesn't, he just sighs and she hears him flop down on her bed. “There has to be something I can do.” He says, “Are you hungry, I can have someone get you something. Or some water, how about some water?” She’s quiet, “I’m not leaving. If you think being quiet is going to make me go away, it isn't going to work.” 

_ -/- _

Francis is the only one here now, aside from the Secret Service that stands by her apartment door. It’s their job to be here, however, it isn't his job though. She doesn't hear anyone else, no pacing, no hushed voices speaking like she can't hear them. She wonders how he got them to leave, how he got them to go home and wait this out instead of waiting here. 

Francis is here, as she said before, she knows it's him because she can feel him. That might sound weird to some but it’s completely logical for her. They’re so intuned with each other, they always know when one is in the room even if the other can't see them.

She’s lying flat on the floor now, staring up at the ceiling. She can't move, she can't, she thinks the closet really did a number on her limbs. Her whole body aches and her head, her head is fuzzy. She’s low on energy, all she really does is sleep now. 

She needs to eat something, she doesn't remember the last time she ate something or drank water. She needs that, but she can't move.

“Francis?”

“Yes?” 

“I think I’m dying.” She whispers it like it's a secret and she isn't sure if it reaches his ears. Then she hears him come closer, get up from where he was sitting and cross the room to her.

“What do you mean?”

“I think I will never find peace.” She tells him and she sighs heavily as her tiny closet spins and spins. She thinks she has been dying for so long now. She just never noticed it before. They’ve been chipping away at her soul, they took her body, they will succeed in taking the rest of her. Everything that she has given up has led to this moment, the moment she can finally let go.

He doesn't know what she’s saying and maybe she doesn't either but they stole her peace. They stole her peace of mind and she’ll never get it back. All the work she has done to get it back has been in vain.

“Mary?”

She’ll never be safe again, ever. And Louis, she hurt him, she hurt Louis. She could have killed him, all because he had the audacity to love her. What will she do to Francis? He already loves her. He loved her before, but can he love her after? Can she have him? Will he be safe or will she destroy him too?   
She has to keep him safe, which means she can't have him. She’ll hurt him.

“I stabbed him.”

“Yes.”

“Because he loved me.” She says, “I’m a bad person.”

“No-”   
“I am, Francis, I am. I hurt him.” She feels like this has been a long time coming, it’s been lying in wait. Now, she’s finally breaking.

“Mary-”

“I wish we had gone to Paris.” She tells him with a breath, “I wanted to.”

“I did too…” 

“I’m sorry we didn't get to go.” She says, not that she has to apologize for that. She remembers the day he showed her the blueprints to the house he wanted to build for her. He had everything planned, Vermont, two kids and maybe a dog. She wanted that, she wanted that so badly. And then the devil came to her office and he took her away from him. 

“I...it’s not your fault.” She doesn't know what he means. “Mary, are you alright? You sound...delusional…”

“I think I’m dying.” She tells him again. Her vision is fuzzy, why is it fuzzy? Her body feels like it’s caving in on itself too and she thinks this is it. She doesn't answer the next few times he calls for her and then the door is opened and there’s a light.

_ -/- _

She wakes to a bright light and something beeping, and her mother's head is resting on her thigh. She can’t move, her wrists are tied to the railing and she whimpers as she tries to move.

“You’re awake.” Her mother whispers, she smiles a small smile, “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Mom…” Mary pulls at her restraints as her mother sweeps the sweaty strands of hair off her forehead. 

“No.” She says softly when Mary tries to pull on her restraints, “You have to hold still.” Her mother places a hand over hers to get her to stop, but she doesn't. “You were saying some scary things earlier, had us all worried, this is just protocol.”

“Protocol?” She questions softly, her throat hurts and her head is fuzzy. “Where is Francis?”

“He’s downstairs.”

“Go. Get. Him.” She tells her. He’ll let her out, he’ll take these off her. This is  _ stupid _ . She wants to go home, this is ridiculous. “Tell him to let me out.” She whines.

“Mary, you stabbed someone, you tried to jump off a building, you disappeared for months and you locked yourself in a closet for literal days.”

“Mom-”

“This is what you need.” She tries the sympathetic and gently approach now, voice soft and soothing as she smooths her daughter's hair back. She forgot the part where Mary murdered her rapist, but she supposes she wouldn't know that part. “They’re going to help you.”

“Mom.”

“I’ll go get Francis.” She says as she grabs her coat, “You’ll be safe here.” She presses a kiss to her cheek before she grabs her coat and exits. Mary realizes this isn't a normal hospital room. It's a stone wall, metal floor, no windows place. 

Oh, they  _ didn't _ . 

Francis doesn't come too close, but he looks pained, she hopes this hurts him; seeing her like this. Mary strapped to a bed, losing her mind. 

“Help.” Her voice is soft and desperate and she sounds like a child, he doesn't say anything. She feels like a child who lost her mom in the store. “Francis-”

“I can't take them off.” He says it gently.

“Where am I?” She asks in a whisper.

“A psychiatric hospital.” He nods to her restraints, “You’re on suicide watch.”

“Suicide-” The air leaves her lungs at that and she tries to sit up, “Oh you’re serious.” She breathes, swallows, “No. I want out.”

“Mary-”

“You have to help me, Francis…”

“They will take you out of your restraints in a few hours and then after that is a seventy two hour hold.” 

“I know I scared everyone, I know and I’m really sorry, please just let me go home…” She has resorted to begging and she’s beginning to think that maybe she should have stayed on the island with Louis, where things were simpler. And he didn't lock her in mental hospitals. Francis just sighs as he walks over but he doesn't touch her.

“This will be good.”

“Good.”

“You’ll get the help that you need and then we can all move past this.”

“Are you mad at me? Is this some sort of punishment?” She asks on a snap, “Because I left with Louis because I...let another man in my body. Is that it? Are you angry?”

“No.”

“Francis.”

“I’m not.” He’s being honest, and she doesn't know why that throws her into a rage. Maybe it would have been easier if he had been angry; if he had some other reason for this. She pulls at her restraints until it hurts and she yells at him, she cries, he has the audacity to step back.

“Please, please, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Mary-”   
“I don't want to be here.” She says softly, “You can’t leave me here.”

“I will come and get you in a few days. I promise.” That’s the last thing he says to her before he’s turning and leaving the room and long after the door has closed, she still screams for him.

_ -/- _

The meds make her dizzy, but they’re supposed to relax her. She doesn't know how long it’s been but she’s had a total of four meltdowns since they took her out of her restraints and moved her to a cozier room. By cozy, she means one bed, a bathroom, and a desk. The bed shouldn't even call itself a bed, it’s literally cardboard with a thin blanket and a cement pillow. 

She’s still heavily monitored, still under supervision and she wonders if they’re bored yet. If they’ve had their fill yet, watching her pace and sit and pace in her prison for hours.

Francis hasn't come back, no one has come to see her and yeah, while the logical explanation would be that there is a strict  _ no visitors _ policy, she isn't logical right now. She keeps thinking that he doesn't love her anymore, that he hates her, that he never wants to see her again. That this was all a plan to get rid of her. She thinks that everyone has forgotten her and maybe she deserves to be forgotten. 

This is her punishment for abandoning everyone. 

She’s eventually taken from her room and moved to another. This one looks like an office, there’s a tub in the corner full of balls and rubber toys. There’s a couch that she’s shoved down on and a desk, framed pictures on the walls of a family. 

“They tell me you’re well enough to talk today.” She hears a man's voice after a while, a door closing and a guy with dark curls and facial hair is walking over to her. He’s stocky, he reminds her of a teddy bear, a nosy one. He takes a seat across from her, crosses one leg over the other. He clicks his pen and adjusts the clipboard in his lap. 

“Uh…”

“Gideon.” He supplies her with a name.

“Mary-” Her voice is hoarse from screaming.

“Oh, I know.” He waves a hand dismissively, “You have quite the reputation, Ms. Stuart.” He clicks his pen again, “How are you feeling?”   
“How do you think?”

“Most patients feel trapped.” He tells her, “Do you feel like that?” She doesn't answer. He clicks his pen and just moves on, “I’m sure you know how this goes, I ask a question. You answer the question. Okay?” She nods, “Fantastic.”

“Then I can go home?”

“If I feel that is within your best interest.” He says with a small smile.

“My best, what?” She asks slowly, oh she’s going to kill him,

“If I feel like you’ve made zero progress I am allowed to extend your hold here.” He says casually like he didn't just tell her he’s the one who holds the keys to her escape. Her excitement is quickly dulled when he clicks his pen again and if he does that one. More. Time. 

“Stop clicking your pen!” She yells at him and he blinks, shakes his head with a sigh and jots something down. “What...what did you just write?”

“Erratic outbursts.”

“I’m not erratic.”

“Hm.” He hums, “You bit an orderly.”

“He touched me.”

“Touched you?” He raises an eyebrow.

“I don't like it when people do that.” She says, “I’m not crazy.” She says softly, she isn't. She shouldn't be here.

“Is that why you stabbed Mr. Conde?” He asks softly and she straightens. Of course, he knows about that. She swallows, doesn't answer. “He made a full recovery, by the way, I wasn't sure if you knew. What with your...closet stunt.”

“Cute.” She mutters, “Do you judge all your patients?” He smiles a small smile before he flips open a folder. It’s quiet, like he’s waiting for her to say something. When she doesn't, he goes on.

“Tell me about your job,” Gideon says without looking up. She shakes her head, “It's funny that you think  _ not  _ talking to me is going to make me sign your release papers.”

“MSA.” She mutters, “Mary Stuart and Associates.”

“And what is that?” He asks but she’s sure he already knows, he has to. What’s the point in telling him? She sighs.

“I fix...problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“People come to me when they don't have anywhere else to go.” She tells him as she leans back in the cushions and he looks at her now, raises a brow.

“So, you...what? House the homeless?” He’s joking but she doesn't laugh.

“ _ Crisis management. _ ” She snaps. “Political scandals, I fix them. I make them go away, I wrap them in a nice little bow and send them off. I spin stories in favor of my clients to make them look better.” 

“You fix them.”

“Yes.” She runs a hand through her hair. 

“Must be hard.” He nods, “Being able to fix everyone else's problems, but not your own.”

“Aaaannd here comes the shrinking.” She says under her breath. 

“I fix problems too.” He says, “People come in here ready to throw in the towel, I help them see that is not an option.”

“I don't want to die.”

“Says the girl who was dangling off a building a few months ago.” He sets his clipboard down and tries a different approach. “Mary.”

“What?”

“If you want out of here sooner rather than later, you have to tell me the truth.” He says it gently, “It will not leave this room, once that door closes the rest of the world doesn't exist. It’s just you and me.”


	13. She Used To Be Mine

_ “I spend days in bed debilitated by loss. I attempt to cry you back but the water is gone and still, you’ve not returned. _ _  
_ _ I pinch my belly till it bleeds, have lost count of the days; sun becomes moon, moon becomes sun. And I become a ghost. _ _  
_ _ A dozen different thoughts tear through me each second. You must be on your way. _ _  
_ _ Perhaps it's best if you’re not.” _

_ -/- _

Today was supposed to be the last day of her hold, she was supposed to go home  _ today _ . Francis didn't come get her and now, now she has this stupid man looking at her like she’s crazy. He leans back in his plastic chair and watches her pace like it’s entertaining for him somehow. They’re in a different room today, a recreation room, there are books and board games and a tennis table tucked in the corner and there are windows. _ Windows!  _ Do you know how long it's been since Mary has seen a freaking window in this place? 

They are the only two people in this room, she’s beginning to think she’s the only patient in this place. Gideon won't stop talking, he won't stop talking even as she’s two seconds away from making a break for it. She wonders how hard she would have to throw one of these plastic chairs to break the glass of the window. 

“You never really appreciate it until it's gone,” Gideon tells her, he’s telling her about the weather. The sunshine, how it’s almost blinding against the snow on the ground. “Until it’s all cloudy and grey-”   
“Gideon.”

“My daughter loved the snow, she used to play in it for hours.”

“Gideon.”

“Do you like snow? I find it irritating, especially when you’re driving in it. Do you drive? Or do you have someone drive you places?” He pauses but she doesn't answer, “Are there secret passageways in the White House? I always wondered I’ve never met someone who used to work there. I know there’s a bunker under it, but like is that-”

“Shut up!” She shrieks, slamming her hands down on the round table that he’s seated at. He doesn't seem phased by it, if anything he seems calm; like he was expecting it. He just hums, tilts the cup of something warm to his lips, eyeing her curiously.

“ _ What _ ?” She snaps.

“All that anger in such a tiny frame, I wonder where you put it.” He sighs, gestures for her to sit down and she doesn't, but then he starts talking about the weather again. And she sits in hopes that he’ll. Stop.  _ Talking _ . 

She folds her arms over her chest and leans back in her chair, glaring at him. 

“Why am I here?”

“Do you want the shortlist or the long one?” He asks as he flips open the folder resting on the tabletop and she rolls her eyes.

“No, why am I  _ here _ . In this room?” She asks, “With you.”

“I grow tired of my tiny office from time to time.” He shrugs, “And I thought-”

“Thought  _ what _ ? We’d break open a game of monopoly and I’d tell you the inner workings of my mind?”

“Do you want to play monopoly?”

“No.” She snaps, “I want to go home.”

“If you don't start talking, this will become your home.” He says that slowly and the physical restraint she has to not strangle him is astounding. “What will you do when you go home?”

“Sit in my bed and stare at the ceiling and think about all the beautiful, bloody, violent ways I can kill you.” She’s joking, it's a joke. He isn't laughing though and he just clicks his tongue against his teeth as he sets his cup down. 

“Because  _ that  _ is going to make me want to release you.”

“Gideon please.” She begs softly, “Please.” She’s begging and it's pathetic, she remembers once that Catherine told her not to beg, never to beg. People lose respect for others who beg, especially if it's a woman. It invites pity.    
And here she is doing it. 

“I expected more from you,” Gideon tells her with a shake of his head and she straightens, tilts her head at him.

“Pardon?”

“You are fierce.” He tells her, “You are the thing that powerful men have nightmares about. You can make or break someone's entire livelihood with a flick of your wrist. You are cunning, clever. And here you are, yelling at someone who just wants to help you.”

“Gideon.”

“Where is the Mary Stuart in this file?” He asks it like he’s offended, like his expectations of her were too high, that she’s nothing like what he imagined. She swallows, runs her fingers through her hair, she glares at him. 

He’s insulting her to get something, a reaction, to get her to talk. He’s playing with her head in hopes that she will give him the tools to pick her apart.  _ No _ . Two can play at this game.

“It’s sad.” He adds with a shake of his head and a sip of his drink and she squints because  _ there it is _ . Her ammunition. The band around his finger is gone, what used to be a gold wedding band is now just lines. The pale skin there contrasts against the rest of them.    
_ Hallelujah _ .

“You’re not wearing your wedding ring.” She says softly, “What’d she do? Hm? Take everything and run?” She asks, “Is that why you do this? Are you just a sad little man who wants help other sad, sick, people because you can't help yourself?” He tilts his head, but he still seems unbothered, there’s only a small glimmer of pain there, but it’s not enough. She’s tired of the one who is always being picked apart. 

“Nice observation.” He says, “But I’m not divorced.”

“Separated?” She questions, “That must be hard. How’d it start? Did she have an affair?” She gasps, “Did you have an affair? Get a little too close to your patients, huh doc?”

“No.” 

“Not separated but you’ve lost hope.”

“Widower, actually.” He says it casually, crosses a leg over the other as he leans back and she blinks.    
_ Oh, great, she’s crazy and she’s a bitch. _

She’s not really sure what to say, so she doesn't say anything, she just stares at him. 

“I can see by your face that isn't the answer you were expecting. But. That’s okay, it's been years now. Died in childbirth.” He sighs as he grabs his cup again, “I assume now you’ll be scrambling for something else to throw at me in an attempt to shift the focus, go on then.”

“I...I’m sorry…” She says softly, “I didn't mean-”

“I’m not angry.” He tells her honestly. “My daughter is dead too.” He supplies without her even asking for it, and maybe she should have known or realized it. He only ever referenced her in past tense. She just didn't put it together. “Cancer took her quickly, quietly, by the time it was caught it was too late.” He shakes his head, she thinks for a second the composed and calm man who sits in front of her is gone and is replaced with a man who is wrapped in tragedy and she finds that she feels for him. 

“That’s awful.”

“I don't do this because I’m a sad little man who has too much time on his hands, Mary, I do this because it's what  _ I  _ needed all those years ago.”

_ -/- _

It starts slow, she gives him a little information at a time and over the course of two days, she is open enough. He offers her perspectives she’s never taken before, he tells her that maybe her attachment to Louis stemmed from her need to talk about what happened to her. Because she had never talked about it with anyone, not the whole thing, not in detail. That she needed to get it off her chest but to do so with someone she had no prior attachment to. Then when he knew, it was just that, he knew. 

He tells her that she stabbed Louis because he was doing something he wasn't allowed to do and even though it doesn't make sense, she wasn't in her right mind. She hasn't been for a long time. He had the audacity to love her, to want her, even though she could never love him back. 

“I shouldn't have done that to him.” She says softly, she should honestly be in prison for it, but here she is. 

“No.” Gideon says, “And he shouldn't have begged for something he knew you couldn't give him.” 

The next day is different and his office feels smaller and there’s a ringing in her ears that won't go away. She knew this would come up, that they would talk about it, because it is such an intricate part of who she is now. He makes her take him through it, everything before, and the hospital stay after. Why did she feel the need to stay with Francis for a month after, only to leave him? 

“I thought it would...go away.” She tells him with a hard swallow. He doesn't say anything, he just listens. “He offered to sleep...in another room or in the same room, just not the bed but I told him it was okay.”

“You wanted him next to you.”

“I thought if I pretended what happened didn't happen, then it couldn't have any effect on me.” She had never been more wrong about anything in her life. “I used to set an alarm…”

“An alarm?”

“I would...we would go to bed, he was allowed to sleep close to me but not to touch me. I would stay awake until he fell asleep and then I would get up and I would move to the other room and I would set an alarm on my phone for one hour before I knew he would wake up.” She shrugs, “And then I’d come back to bed.”

“Did he ever notice?” She shakes her head, “Have you ever told him?” She shakes her head again. She thinks that maybe he figured it out, there’s no way that he didn't. But maybe he never said anything about it because he was just happy that she was trying. Or she seemed to be trying. Gideon sighs as he shifts in his seat and then he’s looking at her like she’s a puzzle that needs to be solved.

“You keep referring to it as something other than what it was.” He says it softly, slowly and she makes a face because she has no idea what the hell he means by that, “During the course of this session, you have called it an incident, the attack, the th-”

“What’s your point?” 

“I need you to say it.” He says, “Part of the healing process is saying it out loud, have you ever done that before? Have you said it out loud?” Just the one time. When Francis asked at the hospital what happened to her. What they did. The doctors, nurses, they knew what it looked like. They knew, but they needed confirmation from her. 

She remembers what happened after that, they sent in a sexual assault person, they took pelvic washings, they scraped under her fingernails, they took some of her hair, her clothes, she was poked and prodded. She never reported it, she refused, but she thinks it’s still sitting in a lab somewhere. 

Not that it matters, he’s dead.

“I don't...I don't wan-”

“Tell me what they did to you.” His voice is soft and sympathetic and she shakes her head but he doesn't move on, he just looks at her. She sighs heavily, swallows despite the dryness of her throat and she says it.

“I was raped.” She tells him, “Is that what you want to hear?”

“You were.” He nods, “But that’s the beauty of past tense. You  _ were _ , but you never  _ will  _ be again. Horrible things happen all the time, to good people and to bad people, but that's the thing. This is just something that  _ happened  _ to you, it doesn't  _ become  _ you.”

_ -/- _

She has a visitor today, she didn't even know that visitors were allowed here, but she has one and they’re waiting. She’s taken to a room, one with people, other patients being visited. The lights are brighter here and they hurt her eyes. It’s all white floors and white walls and it’s almost blinding, it feels like some different world, some other universe. She sees the dark blonde hair and she knows who it is. Though she was almost expecting Francis, this is fine too.

“Kenna?” She questions as she approaches the table, her friend standing with a smile and pulling her into a tight hug.

“Hey, you.” She smiles when she pulls back. She looks different, no dark circles under her eyes, her hair is brushed out, the color has returned to her skin and they sit.

“How are you?” Mary asks as they sit at the table.

“I should be asking you that.” She smiles a small smile, “I’m okay. Are you okay?”

“I...feel lighter.” She says honestly but she doesn't know if that has more to do with the drugs than anything else. She finds herself wondering why Francis hasn't visited her, she thought it was because visitors weren't allowed but Kenna is here. Maybe he doesn't want to see her.

“I thought Francis was joking when he told me where you were.” Kenna says, “I was ready to come break you out.” She whispers that. “Greer and Aylee are working hard to get your firm back up and running. It’s important I think, to get some normalcy back to your life. So that’ll be there when you come home.”

“Okay…”

“Oh, I work for you now.” Kenna tells her, “Greer hired me, do you mind?”

“No.” She was going to offer her job back to her anyways, now that she knows it wasn't entirely Kenna’s fault. Henry wouldn't let her leave.

“Oh, and you didn't hear it from me, but Bash.”

“Bash?”

“He works for you now too.” She whispers it loudly, “Back from wherever the hell he went, he was very confused when he found out that you were... _ busy _ .” She sighs, “But when he was told he understood.”   
“Bash is back?”

“Yes.”

“Does...does Henry know?” She asks and Kenna shrugs.

“He might. I mean once someone with a camera catches him…” Kenna says it like it’s already happened and Mary frowns because she thinks she missed it.

“He works for me now.”

“Yup. Got yourself quite the team.”

“Hm.” She nods and then she runs her fingers through her hair. She’s sure Francis is glad to have him back in his life. “How’s...how is-”

“Francis is good. He’s still under the assumption that this is good for you, I think he’s hopeful.” She smirks, “I think he’s hopeful for a lot of things.”

“I don't know-”

“Well, you aren't flat out saying no, so that’s progress.” She jokes, “He misses you like no other.”

“Me too.”

“Aw, I can't wait until you have his babies.”

“Kenna-” She laughs softly, “That’s...um-”

“I have a proposition.” She says quickly as she straightens in her chair, “Okay when you get out of here, you need to do something.”

“Um…”

“Try.” She’s serious now, “That’s all you can do. No more running away from him. I’ve locked you two in a room once, I’ll do it again.” She’s half-joking but there’s part of her that is serious and Mary swallows as she scoots her chair closer. She isn't sure how to ask this, how to bring it up. It’s a fear of hers. It has been for so long, part of the reason she left him.

“What if…” She drops her voice down to a low whisper, just for them, “What if I...can't be  _ with  _ him?” 

“Sexually?” Kenna questions and Mary shushes her because she can't just say it that loudly, this is a personal conversation. “Okay. Hm.” She tsks. What if it doesn't feel the same? What if she can never feel that way for him again? It was easy with Louis, she liked it, what if she can't... _ like _ it with Francis anymore?

“Oh, you mean-” Kenna’s eyebrows shoot up, “Ooooohhhh, okay, yeah. Um. Well.” 

“Ew forget that I-”

“No.” She says quickly, “You were right to ask. That’s a perfectly logical thing to...wonder after what you went through.” She thinks for a second, “First things first,” She clears her throat, “Francis is...very,  _ very  _ well acquainted with... _ all _ of you.” She pauses, “Second, baby steps.”

“Baby steps.”

“You don't have to jump right into bed with someone, Mary, it's not an obligation and if he makes you feel like it is. I’ll kill him.” She shrugs, “Take it slow. As slow as you want.” She nods, she can do that.

“Do you know why Francis hasn't...visited me?” She asks, desperate now to change the subject because she isn't sure if her face can get any redder.

“Do you want him to?” Kenna asks and before she can answer, she’s pulling her purse to her lap and digging through it, “I wasn't supposed to take this.” She whispers as she tucks something down her sleeve, “Hand, under the table.” She instructs and when she does it, her friend passes something heavy to her palm and Mary tucks it in her sleeve, eyes narrowing to the orderly who’s distracted by another patient. 

“A flip phone?”

“Take it up with the White House sweetie.” Kenna waves a hand dismissively. “Give him a call. He’s saved under sex with legs.” Because of  _ course,  _ he is. 

“You’re weird.”

“Oh, the weirdest.”   
_ -/- _

When she’s taken back to her room, she stares at the phone in her hands. It’s bedtime and they called lights out a few minutes ago, so she pulls the blanket over her head and mutes the phone so they don't hear the tone from pressing the buttons. She waits until she doesn't hear the footsteps in the hall anymore and then she’s pressing the call button and pressing the phone to her ear. 

It rings and rings and rings-

“Hello?” He sounds tired and she shifts in her cardboard bed.

“Francis?”

“Mary?” He questions, “How-”

“Kenna smuggled it in.” She whispers, “Hi.”

“Hi. Why are you whispering?” He asks in a whisper of his own. 

“I don't want to get in trouble.” If she’s caught, they’ll take it away.

“Oh.”

“Um.” She swallows, “Kenna has you saved under sex with legs.” He’s quiet for a second and then she hears him sigh heavily.

“She’s strange…”

“I know.”

“Are you angry?” He asks after another pause.

“I was but I’m not anymore.” She isn't angry because she’s starting to feel better. 

“I thought you’d never forgive me.” He says softly and she thinks he means for more than just putting her in here. “Are you okay? Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” She says softly, “I miss you.” She tells him, “Like a lot…”

“Oh? How much?” She hears the light turning of a page. 

“More than usual.”

“What’s the usual amount?” He asks

“It used to be a dull ache.” She tells him in a whisper, “Something I could turn off, but I can't do that now.”   
“Don't.”

“Francis.”

“I wanted to come see you.” He says after a second. She went quiet because she heard someone walking, making their rounds, checking on people. “But it’s risky.”

“You don't want the press to see you walking into an asylum?”

“I don't want the press to know you’re here.” He says it softly and she hears another turning of a page as she sighs. “Mary-”

“Gideon said I might be able to come home soon.”

“That’s good.”

“And Kenna told me that Bash came back.” She whispers.

“He did, yeah.” He says, “He figured enough time had passed and the press wouldn't be very interested in him anymore.” He sighs after that, “Mary, it’s late and I don't want you to get caught.”

“What are you reading?” She asks as she turns over in bed and adjusts her blanket over her head, he doesn't say anything and she tries to still her movements when she hears someone walk by her room. 

“A book.”

“Oh wow, Sherlock Holmes.” She says sarcastically and then bites at her lip when she realizes it was louder than she intended. 

“Grief is the Thing With Feathers.” He tells her with a light laugh.

“Dark.”

“And beautiful.”

“How do you have time to read?” She asks, he does a lot of charity work, and he’s almost always traveling for something. Is he taking a break? Would he be an asshole for taking a break from his charitable attributions? Sometimes she thinks he’s busier than her. 

“Time management.” He tells her, “You don't have to do everything all at once.”

“Then how do you get to the other stuff quicker?”

“By not being an overachiever.” He says it in a mocking tone that makes her giggle softly and she bites at her cheek. 

“Francis.” She gasps, “I have to stop talking.” She says in a low tone, voice barely above a whisper because she thinks someone stopped in front of her door. She’ll get caught if he keeps making her laugh and she tries to keep herself from moving.

“Oh. Okay-”

“Don't hang up.”

“I-”

“Read.” She whispers and he pauses, “I don't want them to take you away.”

“Alright.” He says softly and then she hears the flipping of pages before he takes a breath and then he starts in a soft voice, “ _ I wanted to build a hundred-foot memorial to her with my bare hands. I wanted to see her sitting in a vast stone chair in Hyde Park, enjoying her view. Everybody passing could comprehend how much I miss her. How physical my missing is. I miss her so much it is a vast golden prince, a concert hall, a thousand trees, a lake, nine thousand buses, a million cars, twenty million birds and more. The whole city is my missing her… _ ”

She thinks the passage he picked is as depressing as it is symbolic but she listens to him read. She listens to him read until her eyes feel heavy and then they flutter shut. She listens to him read until her breathing becomes steady and then she dreams of him and of feathers, and sunshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO MORE CHAPTERS GUYS


	14. It's you, It's Always Been You

_ “It feels like instinct _ _   
_ _ Coming back to you...” _ _   
_ _ -/- _

Gideon delivers the news one week later, she’s sure he’s joking when he tells her she can go home in a few days. She still thinks he’s joking those few days later when she’s given a change of clothes and a bag of the things she was brought in with. 

She still thinks he’s joking even as he walks her out the back, when she feels the cold air on her face, and hears the birds, the wind hitting the trees. When she sees her mom standing by her car with her phone in her hand, thumbing a text. 

“I…” Mary starts softly when she turns to him. She gave him so much hell the last few weeks and he’s...releasing her? What if it’s too soon? She feels better, she feels better than she has in such a long time, but what if the second she goes home it all comes crashing down? 

“It's scary at first, but you’re ready.” He tells her softly, gently, seemingly ready to nudge her forward. 

“I was a bad patient,” Mary says awkwardly and he laughs a small laugh before nodding in agreement. 

“You came around eventually.” He sighs.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” They’re quiet and she isn't really sure what to do now. Does she just leave? Is this it? Is it over now? She doesn't know why she does it, what comes over her and maybe she’s just really appreciative, but she hugs him. “Oh...uh-” He hugs her back with a laugh, “I’ve never...had patients hug me before.”

“That’s really sad.” She breathes a laugh before she gives him one more squeeze and then she steps back. “Um. So. I guess...this is goodbye then.”

“Yes. I hope to never see you again.”

“Wow.”

“Mary, there are no good reasons for us to ever cross paths.” He tells her and while that might be true, it might sting a little. “Tell you what, if I ever get into enough trouble that it is detrimental to my career. I will call you.”

“Haha.”

“Take care of yourself, okay?” 

“I’ll do my best.”

“You better mean that, if you’re back in here a year from now, Mary, I swear to g-”

“I’ll try.” She says it with a roll of her eyes and he shakes his head, “So-”

“You’re stalling.”

“I am not.”

“You are.” He tells her and without another word, he’s turning away, “Bye Ms. Stuart.” He says as he walks back inside. Well, she may have been stalling a  _ bit _ but he didn't have to go back inside entirely. She sighs heavily before starting the long walk over to her mom who has yet to look up. 

She doesn't feel ready, but she supposes if Gideon thinks that she is, then she is. 

“Hey.” Her mom smiles when she approaches, she slides her phone back in her pocket and beams at her, “Ready to go?”

“I think so.” She says softly as her mom wraps an arm around her shoulders and guides her to the passenger seat. 

“Everyone is very excited to see you again.” 

“Me too.”

She doesn't take her home, instead, her mother drives her to her firm, stopping in front of it and saying she has a surprise for her. When the lights in the conference room are flicked on, she screams when her friends jump out of various corners of the room. There are balloons and a banner that says, “ _ Welcome back, Psycho.” _ In Kenna’s handwriting. 

“I said excited but quiet.” Her mother snaps it when Mary freezes and it's a few seconds of silence as they wait for her to react.

“Psycho?” Mary laughs softly, “Really?”

“Aylee thought lunatic was too mean,” Kenna tells her as she pulls her into a tight hug. 

“I fought a good fight for just Mary.” Greer supplies as she hugs her too and there are too many hugs to count but she wouldn't change it for anything. Turns out, they really went all out. There’s even a cake, a  _ cake _ . A little round thing with purple icing and she’s way too happy to see it because the food in that hospital was disgusting. It shouldn't be called food if she’s honest. 

Francis isn't here, but Charles and his new girlfriend are, along with Claude and Margot and there’s a fresh vase of roses on her desk from Henry and Catherine. 

She’s sitting on the front steps as the sun goes down later, picking at a slice of cake with a fork and trying not to take his absence too personally. It still feels strange that she’s back and that she has been given the tools to really start over. To put everything that’s happened behind her, she’s never thought that she’d be able to, and yet here she is. 

“Hey.” She turns her head at the familiar voice, smiles when she sees who it is. 

“Bash.”

“Am I late?” He asks as he walks down the steps and takes a seat next to her, “Kenna wasn't too specific at the time.”

“Is that...why Francis isn't here?” She asks it softly and tries to sound disappointed. 

“He doesn't want to overwhelm you.” He tells her, “How are you?”

“Good.” She says softly with a breath, “Better.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” She sighs, “I didn't think...that it was possible.” She shrugs, “How are you? It’s been a long time.”

“I’m...good. You know our situations are a little similar.”

“Did you stab someone in your kitchen too?”

“No.” He laughs a little, “I mean. I was gone for a while and now I’m back. It's an adjustment, and now you have to make it too. Granted you weren't gone as long as me but you’ve been through far more.” Maybe she has, but Bash hasn't had it easy either. His entire life was put under a microscope and then used to bring his father down like he was nothing but a bad decision. She does wonder what he has been up to, but for now, she’s content with just sitting with him and watching the sun go down.

_ -/- _

Her mother got her a new phone, it’s programmed with all of her old contacts, the same number. She scrolls down to his name as she sits in the car and waits for his mother. She debates calling him, or sending him a text but she decides against it when her mom climbs in. 

“Did you have fun?” She asks as she starts the car. 

“Yeah.” She tells her, “You know you don't have to...drive me-”

“I want to.” 

“Alright.” And so she drives her home and she walks her up to her apartment, leads her inside and then Mary is just standing there. Everything looks the same, the last time she was here seems like a distant memory, a bad dream. Her mom takes her coat as she looks around. Her kitchen is blood-free and clean, her bedroom has remained untouched. 

“Maybe you should go lie down.” Her mother says softly as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

“All night?”

“Yes.” She smiles as she goes to the closet that Mary keeps the extra blankets. She tries not to frown as she was kind of hoping to have her apartment to herself for a few hours. She nods though and heads to her room.

She’s exhausted as she climbs into her bed, the mattress feeling heavenly compared to the slab of cement she was used to sleeping on at the hospital and she pulls the comforter up to her nose, inhaling the familiar scent. 

She dreams of a kitchen knife and Louis and she dreams of blood on blood and the way it felt when it dried on her skin and she dreams of the quiet as she watched Louis’ breathing slow. She wakes with a start, sweat gathering on her forehead and she tries to take a few breaths before lying back down. It’s fine. It was just a dream, Gideon said that she would probably have a few nightmares upon her return. It will be a while before she is completely okay again. 

Her phone is ringing and she reaches over to answer it.

“Mary?” It's Lola and her voice makes her sit up again as she swallows, running her fingers through her hair. 

“Lola.”   
“They told me you were back.” She says softly, “I...um. They told me you were back.” Her voice is soft and hoarse and Mary wonders where she is now. She wasn't at the party, but she didn't expect her to be. She will never expect anything from Lola. 

“I am…” She says, “I was-”   
“I know.” 

“Lola-”

“I was mean to you…” She pauses, “At the funeral. At Julien’s funeral.”

“It’s okay.” She tells her, she shouldn't apologize. She was grieving and Mary was the one who thrust him into her life, only for him to be ripped away in the worst way possible. “Lola, you never have to apologize for that.”

“Okay.” She breathes, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” 

“Good. That’s good.”

“Lola. Are you okay?” She asks and the girl doesn't answer right away, she seems to be thinking about it. She breathes a heavy sigh over the phone and it sounds weighted like she’s being held down by so much. Mary wants to hug her, to tell her everything will be okay, even if she doesn't know that it will. “Lola?” She questions when she still hasn't answered.

“I keep thinking that they’re going to come back.” She tells her after a while, “That I’ll wake up and Julien will be next to me and I’ll still have my son.” She pauses, “But they’re not coming back and I don't know what to do now.”

“I’m so sorry, Lola.”

“I keep thinking it’s my fault.” She says, “Because I was going to terminate but then I didn't and he...he died anyway and then Julien, Julien died too and I just...I don't know what to do now.”

“It's not your fault.” Mary straightens because her saying it was is ridiculous, absurd, there was nothing she could have done to stop this from happening, “I wish I could have been there for you.”

“Me too.” Lola whispers that and she sighs again, “I just really miss him.”

“I know.” They’re quiet now and Mary wonders if this is a good time to tell her that she isn't angry anymore, that anger doesn't curl up her throat and threaten to choke her like it used to. And maybe she hasn't been angry for a while. 

“Did it hurt this much when you left Francis?” She asks, “I mean I know it was different, he isn't dead. But...you get so used to someone being around until they aren't anymore.”

“It did.” She says softly, but Lola is right, it is different. Mary chose to leave, to end it, Julien is dead and Lola didn't choose that. It wasn't so much the ending it that hurt, she left it mentally long before she left physically, it was the ending of a routine. She had to learn to get used to not having him around, she had to discover who she was without Francis, and that might have been the hardest thing she had to do. She was so used to him that she could hardly wrap her mind around not having him, not calling him to tell him a joke she heard that she knew he would like, not to look for him when she enters a room. (Though she never really unlearned that one). How not to miss him.

She can't even imagine how Lola is feeling right now. At least Mary can go back to Francis, she can call him, she’ll still see him around. Lola will never see Julien again. 

Mary sighs as she pulls her phone back to her and scrolls down to his name.

**Mary:** _ “Meet me by The Lincoln Memorial?”  _ His response is quick despite the late hour and it makes her wonder if he was waiting.

**Francis:** _“Sure.”_

_ -/- _

She knows now why she’s felt uneasy about reintegrating into her old life, it's because her old life isn't hers anymore. Maybe, she needs to start fresh and new. She remembers when she started this firm when it was just a hotel room filled with boxes and files. Her and Kenna, Greer and Aylee, and Lola all hunched over cheap takeout as they scanned for clients willing to trust a bunch of girls with their lives. Now, now it’s taken on a life of its own.

When she walks in she finds Aylee is helping Kenna sift through boxes in her office and she doesn't see Bash but she knows he’s here too.

Mary clears her throat to get Greer’s attention.

“I need to talk to you.” She tells her softly.

“What are you doing back?” Greer asks as she follows Mary to her office and she closes the door, along with the blinds before walking around her desk. “Mary?”

“Part of the reason this place went under after I left.” She explains as she grabs the hallowed out picture frame that hangs above her desk, it’s a picture of her and her mom, but that’s not the point. “Is because you didn't have access to some very important documents.”

“How long has that been there?” Greer gestures at the small safe, it’s embedded in the wall and Mary doesn't say anything as she punches in the pen and pulls it open.    
“I remember when we were so young.” She tells her, “Just starting out with little to our names and then I look around and I can hardly believe how far we’ve come. I started MSA because I wanted to help people.” Greer is quiet, she just looks confused as she walks over to look in the safe, “I have decided for the foreseeable future I will be stepping back.”

“You’re leaving?” She turns to look at her now, “No, I thought you were better, you can't disappear again-”

“You have always been one step ahead of everyone else,” She tells her, “Kenna is back, Bash is back, Lola might come back.”

“All the more reason to keep this place up and run-”

“I’m not shutting it down.” Mary says, “The code is  _ 41458 _ . Inside are clientele files, forms, the orange folder holds important information on bank accounts I have set up in different countries. The red one is for high-level contacts only; military personnel, White House staff-”

“Why are-”

“-Governors, CIA, FBI, Secret Service Agents who owe me a few favors.”

“Mary-”

“Leading this firm means going up against the White House sometimes, maybe going up against me one day, you’re the only person I know who would be able to handle that.” Mary pauses for a second and Greer laughs nervously. “I built this place up from the ground up, I gave it a name and I taught it how to walk and now I’m giving it to you.”

“You’re doing what?”

“You’re running it from here on out.” She says as she closes the safe, writing down the code and then reaching in her purse for the keys to her office. She drops them in Greer’s palm. “Don't call me unless it's in flames.”

“Will you...will you come back?” She asks softly. 

“Maybe.” She shrugs, because she doesn't know if she’ll come back, if she’ll return or when that would be, but she knows this is right and that Greer will take care of things until then. 

“Mary, I don't know what to say…” It's barely above a whisper as her fingers close around the keys. 

“Tell me you’ll take care of it.”

“I will, I promise.”

_ -/- _

She thinks he isn't coming as the minutes tick by and the sun goes down and the occasional passing of people becomes less frequent. She thinks that maybe she messed up one too many times and he isn't coming because he doesn't want to see her. Maybe he doesn't want to tell her that he doesn't want to see her because of how fragile her mental state has been as of late, but he should tell her, not make her wait out in the cold for him t-

“I’m sorry I didn't come to your party.” His voice comes from behind her and she turns sharply, it makes him step back quickly, and she would be lying if she said that didn't sting. She stands up and doesn't say anything as she walks over to him and he seems a little confused when he sees that she isn't stopping, not until she’s right in front of him. 

“It’s okay.”

“Leith made these for you.” He tells her and he holds up a bag, “I have no idea how he even...had time to do it.” She grabs the bag and peers inside. Muffins. Huh.

“He can bake?”

“ _ Apparently _ .” He shrugs, “You look good.” He says softly. 

“Are you implying that there are times when I look bad?” She jokes. 

“Covered in blood on your kitchen floor may not have been the  _ best  _ look for you.” He jokes back and she rolls her eyes, he steps a little bit closer; seemingly experimental, and when she doesn't move he steps closer. 

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

“What are you doing?”

“Testing.” He says softly and she squints at him before stepping back just a tiny bit because boundaries are still very much a thing. 

“Francis.” She says softly, “I...gave up my firm.” She tells him softly as she goes to sit back down on the stone steps and he sits too, tilting his head at her. It’s her entire life's work, she spent so much time building it, and breathing life into it and maybe the fact that he knew that, it raises a red flag. 

“Is that...good?”   
“Yeah.” She says softly, “I think I need to step back from all of it, I let it consume me for so long. Letting it go for now is...good, a good thing.”

“Okay.” He nods, “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” 

“No.” She says softly and she looks at him, like really looks at him. Because she hasn't allowed herself to do so in so long, at least not meet his eyes and she almost forgot how blue they were, even in the dark and even with the lights from the memorial shine on him. He’s watching her and she’s watching him and she almost forgets how to speak.

“Remember when you told me what you thought our future looked like?” She asks him softly. It was a Sunday morning, one of the few they actually had time to spend together. Time to sleep in, though they didn't... _ sleep _ much. When they were wrapped in blankets and each other and speaking in hushed voices despite being the only two people in the room. How they would have a house in Vermont, two kids, and maybe a dog and they would be happy. 

“Vermont, two kids, and maybe a dog.” She tells him anyway, even though she knows he remembers, “I’ve been thinking about that a lot.”

“Me too.”

“And um…” She swallows, “Anyways, basically I just wanted to say that I don't want one of those tiny dogs that you carry around in a purse, I want a big dog.” He smiles, big and wide, in that way that makes his dimples show and she smiles too, “I mean it!”

“Medium.”

“No.”

“Mary-”

“Go big or go home, Francis.”

“Can I  _ think  _ about it?” He asks but he still smiles and she smiles too and this feels different, she doesn't see their faces when she looks at him now, she just sees Francis. She’s never been more desperate to try this in her life, but she scoots closer to him until they're touching and before he can ask what she’s doing. She leans in and presses her lips to his lightly and it doesn't make her scared, it doesn't make her want to run away, her stomach doesn't twist with fear. 

He doesn't kiss her back right away, it takes her pulling back a little and then going back in again for him to fully commit to it, but then his lips are against hers and equally gentle and his hand comes up to cup her cheek.

All these months and years of walking away from him, of leaving him, of telling herself she doesn't want him. That she can't be with him, it all led to this inevitable moment where she chooses him again and again, because she knew that she always would. 

Because it’s him. It’s always been him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so I lied about there being two chapters left. This is actually the last one. I miscounted my notes haha. I hope you guys enjoy it and thank you so much for not losing faith in me, I know some of you were really doubting that this was a frary fic. And before you ask, yes I have another in the works and it isn't as...heavy with the subject matter, it's actually a fun one. But it's still in it's developing stages and I cannot say for certain when it will be up. Thanks so much for reading and I will see you next time. :)


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